Shadow Mage
by lamejoke911
Summary: A boy who has been wronged all his life has had enough. He emerges as a Shadow Mage. Powerful/Independant/Dark Harry. Evil Dumbledore, Dark Creatures, Voldemort, Hallows, Horcruxes, Armies, Will probably contain dark themes, some Weasley Bashing
1. Chapter 1: Enshrouded in Darkness

**Shadow Mage**

Chapter 1: Enshrouded in Darkness

 **Disclaimer: I don't own HP, except for the one printer I had a couple years ago.**

 **Rated Mature because it speaks of dark themes….**

A young boy screamed as the door was slammed in his face, jolting backwards so as to avoid the impact. The darkness crept over him, as the door was closed on any semblance of light that could possibly have penetrated into his unlikely abode. He had lost all sense of sight. All around him, there was naught but gloom.

Today was his eighth birthday, and he noticed how for his caretakers, this fact had held no particular significance. Rather, for his aunt and uncle, his family, this fact only intensified their hatred for him and his unnatural freakiness, condemning him to what felt like an eternity of hell immediately after he returned from school.

Even at school, he wasn't safe. His uncle's son, who was just as massive as he was, spared no effort in reminding him of his place at the bottom of the food chain. Harry's sole purpose in life was to entertain and amuse Dudley Dursley and serve his family. His sole purpose in life was to suffer, to atone for his own freakishness, and for the sins of his own freakish father. At school, Harry Hunting had been the game Dudley and his friends would enjoy during recess, continuing on even after school until the lot returned home, where, after having completed his chores, the boy would then be stuffed into the cupboard under the stairs for the remainder of the day and night, making his home among the creepy crawlies that inhabited the shadows.

The teachers would sometimes worry after him and his reserved attitude, seeing much potential in him, but time after time facing disappointment at his underperformance. Soon, though, those sentiments had faded, undoubtedly aided by consistent reassurances by his 'family' that he was 'special', special in the sense of retarded. Soon, his lack of results became the norm, and the famed 'Harry Hunting' that teachers had been so worried about too blended in, after all, how else would his responsible elder cousin keep a leash on him and his freakishness.

Living the majority of his life in darkness, Harry no longer feared the dark. Rather, it gave him a sense of refuge. After all, once Harry entered his cupboard, the Dursleys would begin to pretend he no longer existed. Tuning their ears out to any sound of his squirming about in the congested space he resided in. Even if they felt the need to punish him, they would pull him out and then execute whatever judgment they ordained as just. As such, the dark embrace was the only place he was safe. The only refuge he had from the torture that was life.

Just so, it was the dark that had first offered him protection. That had been his only respite from the otherwise torturous world. It had been the shadows that had been his constant companion. So much so that when he was cornered, having run for over half an hour on end, and that day's quota of Harry Hunting seemed to be drawing to a close and he sought escape by turning into a dark alley, something unexpected happened. The next thing he knew, he was lying on his face in the shade of a water tank on the roof of the school building. He knew not then what had happened, but what he did know, was peace, security and escape. Tired beyond belief, Harry welcomed the shadow, giving himself up to its trustworthy embrace.

That was the first time. After experiencing similar occurrences several times over the course of a couple months, Harry grew to recognize it as the shadows watching over him.

However, not fearing the dark did not necessitate a lack of fear for the creatures that that had made it their home. In the beginning, Harry would cry for hours in fright as spiders crawled over his body, leaving spots and bruises from where they had stung him, or where he had attempted to squash them by ramming his arms against the walls and floor. As time passed, he grew to ignore them, and they began to ignore him. Until today, that is.

Today, he had been treated worse than usual, it being his birthday after all. His family would barely allow him to eat anything but the leftovers on the dishes, let alone do something special for his birthday. Upon returning home, his uncle had decided to discipline him for causing trouble for his cousin (read evading him all day and not offering his body for the baby killer whale to wail upon), and thus, taking out his belt, continued to lash him until the Dursley himself fell down, exhausted.

In all this time, Harry had refused to let a sound out of his mouth, not a grunt, a moan, nothing. His endurance in the face of punishment had been built up from a very young age, trumping that of most grown men. As the belt came down for the last time, he felt a kick to his abdomen, sending him skidding across the marble floor. Not even deeming it sufficient to leave him there sprawled on the hard floor, his uncle took hold of his ankle and dragged him to where he belonged, to his room (read cupboard). Once there, he slammed the door shut, leaving him to either bleed out by the morning, or if he was unlucky, for his wounds to heal and prepare for the next ordeal.

As he lay there, bruised and bloodied, Harry knew that he had had enough. His 'family' had lost any and all rights to that title since the week they had taken him in. In fact it was a wonder he had survived at all. But now, he would take no more. He hated them. He hated the Dursleys with all his heart (whatever was left of it). As he thought of all that they had done over the past seven years to torment him to the extent none had the right to do, a burning rage started to bubble up from within him. A will to make them pay. A will to dominate. A will to overpower. A will to destroy. A will to engulf them all in the shroud of shadow!

A rush of power ran through him… concentrating itself in his chest, drawing strength from the darkness that encompassed him on all sides, pooling together inside of him. For all of a minute, magic welled up in his chest until his core had been filled up to the brim, and then, it all exploded. Magic spilled out of his body in such quantities that any sensor worth his salt present in the county would immediately notice and half of the wizards in the Ministry's auror department would flock to see what was up with the muggle neighborhood that had just lit up like a beacon to any magic sensitive being in the United Kingdom.

However, it was only one sensor in an isolated castle far away in Scotland that registered the magical output.

An old man sporting a long white beard, which had been tied into a pony tail, dressed in the most eccentric blue colored clothing one could imagine and wearing a set of his trademark half-moon spectacles hurried to his office up the spiral staircase past the stone gargoyle that stood guard outside. His alerts had been ringing quite violently for the past several minutes while he had been relaxing over a cup of tea with his half-giant of a gamekeeper.

As he entered the office, his surveillance equipment seemed to have gone through an upheaval. The sensor seemed to have been fried, with the graphical monitor screen showing unbelievably unstable values that could have been nothing but bogus data. Worried, he called on Fawkes, who flashed into his office in a storm of fire, and teleported him to a calm and peaceful neighborhood in Surrey. Thank goodness his wards had ensured that no signals reached outside the area except to his own sensors.

As he knocked on the door of Number 4, Privet Drive, a fat man emerged. Seeing his newest visitor, a frown appeared on his forehead.

"What do you want? We want to have nothing to do with your freakishness here!"

 _'I don't the time to deal with these muggles and their idiocy…'_

Inconspicuously waving his wand at the man, he assumed a dazed look on his face, and seemed to nod, as if he understood, and gestured for the old man to enter.

Following him inside, _'Show me the boy…'_ He intoned, with a sense of urgency.

The man led his confunder to the cupboard under the stairs, and then just stood there, gazing off into empty space. Opening the door from the outside after having unlatched it from the wall, he found a young boy sleeping inside, surrounded by a host of spiders and the like. Sensing for his magical core and any abnormal magic it contained, he found nothing. In fact, it was mediocre. He had expected the 'boy-who-lived' to have had a magical core that was above average in size. He had expected him to have been special. That's why he had undertaken all the precautions he had set up. But it seemed, that they were unnecessary. Harry's core was as small as a seven year old's, and that was saying something, given that one's magical core grew in leaps and bounds in the eighth year, until it stabilized at eleven, then growing gradually until it once more jumped drastically at the age of magical majority at seventeen. It would then continue to grow, slowly, but indefinitely.

Returning to the present, Albus Dumbledore didn't know what to think. It seemed his surveillance equipment had malfunctioned. The boy's magical core contained enough magical energy for him to be a wizard, though it was nothing out of the ordinary. That meant that things were going just according to plan. Though, there did seem to be some residual magic in the area. ' _Must have done some accidental magic lately. Shows how his core is still in the development stage.'_ With a satisfied expression, Albus merely shut the door to the cupboard behind him, walking out the door.

' _At least one thing is going right. The Dursleys have kept the boy just as I had predicted they would. Undernourished, weak and emaciated. Perfect for the role he must play when the time comes.'_

Meanwhile, the magical energy that had been released earlier began to coalesce back into shape as it gathered around the sleeping harry, filling his core once more. Filling it further and fuller than it had ever done. The creatures of the dark knew something had happened. They knew that a monumental event had occurred. And they were ready. Had the age old headmaster arrived any time later, he would have been witness to the magic that now filled the boy, breaking all limits. Had he come earlier, the residual magic that permeated the air would have warned him of the events that would unfold in the times to come. But the shadows were watching.

The boy that had suffered for three fourths of a decade would soon rise to power. The boy who had been oppressed would soon return the favor, and adopt the visage of a demon to enact and deliver divine punishment. He would show the world his true face and let them face the force of his fury and wrath.

As Harry Potter opened his eyes, the world shivered. A Shadow Mage had been born!

 **AN:**

 **Updates will probably be kinda slow, cuz I also have my other story together with college, a job, football/soccer and table tennis/ping pong. And yes I have life too!**

 **If you like dark stories, you might want to check out my Naruto story, called vengeful sage.**


	2. Chapter 2: Fetters Broken

**Shadow Mage**

Chapter 2: Fetters Broken

 **Disclaimer: Harry belongs to Rowling… I'm not into that owning people stuff anyway.**

 **TheOnlyKing: Concerning your comment about Harry going dark much earlier than Naruto in my other story Vengeful Sage, I must say that a difference in circumstances is all. Whereas harry has been tortured by the only people he has known and interacted with, at all times during the night and the day. Naruto has had reprieve and apart from general dislike, has only met with intensely harsh behavior only occasionally. Also, he has the Hokage and the Ichirakus to keep him sane and loyal to Konoha. That façade, though, will slowly deteriorate as time goes by.**

A pair of green eyes blinked open, to find themselves surrounded by walls on all sides, stained in crimson. The young boy that was Harry Potter slowly got up, rubbing his back where the bruises from his earlier ordeal burned up, putting him in a world of pain. As he sat upright, leaning on the wall behind him, the first thing he knew was hunger. It was like he hadn't eaten in days. In fact, that may very well have been the case, for he knew not how long he had lay there, how long he had slept. His body cried out for food… but more importantly, his magic called out for nourishment. And the dark answered.

In a matter of minutes, spiders came scuttling from under the cupboard door, carrying an assortment of edibles, ranging from grapes and dates, to chips and crackers. The dark had inspired them. Hungry beyond belief, he snatched up the delicacies the dark's servants had provided, savoring their taste and soon, his appetite, though definitely not sated, had been appeased for the time being.

Fumbling around for his glasses in order to assure himself they were still there, his hand hit something, and he put them on, to keep track of them, and because he was so used to wearing them, he would even wear them to sleep. It was then that Harry noticed that he could see. He could see perfectly fine in the dark, the spiders and their bodies, the morsels of food they had scavenged, the walls and the bloodstains on them, his clothes and how torn they were, his body and how exposed and injured it was. He could see down to the minutest details, just as if he was in broad daylight. The same way his glasses enabled him to see during the day, they also enabled him to see in the dark, and he was pretty sure that his glasses had nothing to do with it except for correcting his normal vision. No, this was something greater. Something magical.

Having appeased his stomach, which was no longer crying out for food, Harry began to remember everything he had gone through before being tossed into this hellhole. Harry remembered the beatings, the lashings, the blood, the hurt, the crashes. He remembered the torture endured by him for the past seven years, and how slowly, he had been driven to the saturation point. How he would tolerate this madness no longer.

As his rage grew, so did his magic. Dark clouds shadowed the outside world as Harry's magic screamed out to the world. He would stay here no longer. Just as he had constructed that thought, Harry found his body begin to sink into the floor, little by little until he had submerged entirely, finding a two dimensional projection of himself sprawled upon the floor of the cupboard. Feeling himself completely at ease with his new predicament, Harry crawled forward, leaving the confines of the cupboard in seconds. Swimming along, Harry appeared on the other side, moving on until he reached the kitchen, upon which he emerged from his shadow, standing up straight once more. Opening the door to the fridge, he salvaged whatever his hungry eyes could find. He took out a can of soda, heaven to his dried up throat as he poured it into his mouth. As he closed the door,

"Who's there? Vernon, is that you in the kitchen?" A voice called from the lounge.

"No, I'm here watching TV."

"And Dudders?"

"Playing on his Nintendo. He hasn't left his room in hours."

"Well then, who is it?"

As both the Dursleys closed in on the kitchen hesitantly, a sort of panic descended into their hearts. Who could it be rummaging through their refrigerator at this hour? It was half past ten at night, and nobody would be out and about except for the owls. Stepping into the kitchen, the two found what they were looking for.

"Boy!"/ "Freak!"

Harry jolted as he turned his face towards the two figures that had been the bane of his existence for most of his life. Shadows covered his eyes as he put all his effort into controlling the anger that raged through his veins. An aura of power surrounded the young Shadow Mage, lying heavy on the atmosphere around him. The elder Dursley, who had been prepared to put the freak back in his place faltered, as an oppressive feeling of despair descended upon him, freezing him on the spot. It was as if the very forces of nature had bound him, leaving him incapable of flexing even a muscle. Try as he might, he couldn't pull free.

On the other hand, Harry didn't know what was happening. Just that whatever it was, it felt really good. He just knew that whatever was happening, it was causing his uncle a world of pain, and that was enough for him to relish in it. Whatever it was, he knew it was him that was causing it. It felt exhilarating.

Soon, the man began to whimper, as he gripped his head, which was at the point of exploding in pain.

"Vernon, what's wrong?" Petunia knelt down next to her walrus of a husband, fear evident from her expression.

"What have you done, you **Freak of Nature!** " She yelled in desperation.

Seeing his tormentor of several years lying before him, at his mercy like he himself had so, so long ago gave Harry the utmost satisfaction. He knew not how this had happened, but he basked in the power, the control he had over his uncle. A smirk forming on his lips, he replied.

"Oh nothing… This is merely Divine Judgment. Your husband is suffering for the evils he committed all his life, and his punishment has been enacted through my hand. Now suffer, and get a feel for the pain I went through for years."

Harry didn't know where these words were coming from. As if, some foreign entity had placed them on his tongue. In his euphoria of power, Harry had said things he would never have had the confidence to say otherwise. This was a whole new side of him, and he liked it.

Vernon, in his agony, had no sense of perception for anything but what he was going through. Petunia on the other hand, whose turn had just begun, had begun to feel the vibes of terror emanating from her green eyed nephew. It was then, she knew that her just desserts had come. All of her jealousy and the lack of self-worth she had felt when her sister had been special, the gem of her mother's eyes, possessed magic, superseded her in looks, married a filthy rich husband and had anything she wished for at the flick of her wand, and everything she had done as a result, had come back to bite her multi fold.

As her trepidation grew, Vernon began to scream out in pain, spasming on the floor. Not knowing what to do, she looked to her nephew, her eyes, welling up with tears, pleading for mercy. Begging to hear that this was a dream, that this was some cruel sort of joke. Unfortunately, it was far too late for that.

The same oppressive aura of desperation sank upon Petunia, as she too collapsed onto her husband. Seeing his face pale and lifeless, she lost all hope. As suddenly as it had appeared, the pressure receded, but the damage had been done. Vernon's heart beat had been reduced to a tenth of what it should have been, and Petunia seemed to have fallen into shock.

' _It's time to exact my revenge,'_ thought the smug eight year old boy as he stepped forward, his mind running a mile a minute, swimming in all the possibilities there were.

XXX

Meanwhile, Dudley Dursley had heard some yelling downstairs, but he was in the middle of a fight on his gaming console, so he ignored it and continued on to play. Several hours later, when the entire house felt eerily quiet, and more importantly, he had lost his fight and was kicked out of the tournament, had two hours of sleep, and lost another tournament, he decided to go downstairs and check out what was going on there. Besides, it was eight in the morning, and his parents should have been up by now.

Upon arriving in the lounge, he found nobody there. Finding the TV running on mute, he switched it off. _'Mum and dad must have gone out somewhere. No wonder it's so quiet.'_

Dismissing the lack of noise as nothing of significance, Dudley went over to the fridge, to satiate his ever-hungry stomach. It was only then that he truly realized that something was wrong. The floor, which tended to be spotlessly clean at Number 4, Privet Drive, was not so. In fact, it was bathed in crimson, as two large stains of what couldn't possibly be tomato sauce covered the floor. Even more troubling, was that there was a set of trails of what could be nothing but blood, leading out of the kitchen, as if someone had dragged a bloody corpse across the floor, bleeding its lifeblood onto the tiles and carpet.

It was then that the dread began to settle in. The feeling that something was wrong. All of that blood sent his heart thudding, not knowing what to do. It must be said that while Dudley was large and heavy, he was not very brave. Having gotten anything he wanted all his life, Dudley wasn't ever much good at facing adversity or difficult situations. Nevertheless, he followed the path paved in blood as it led all the way to the stairs, disappearing right beside the cupboard. Realization striking him, he knew that there was something inside the cupboard, either something dead, or willing to kill. Compelled by fear, and something else that removed any inhibitions he should have had in opening the cupboard door, he unlatched it. Swinging the door open, Dudley was met with the horror of his life. Before him lay Petunia Dursley, his mother, the person who coddled him more than any other, who gave him everything he ever wanted, with a knife buried up to its hilt in her chest, crimson blood forming a flower shaped stain on her front, and leaking out to the rest of her clothes, sparing not an inch of them. Just one look at her lifeless eyes told him she was long dead.

Dudley couldn't take it anymore, and he turned and fled. Running to his parents' room, he searched for his father, but he saw the bed empty and undisturbed. Nobody was there. His hearting pumping in an adrenaline high, he reached the kitchen, where all of this madness had begun, and he realized that there were _two_ stains there. Retracing his footsteps, Dudley found that the path of blood branched very slightly next to the mini breakfast table present in the kitchen.

Bending down to investigate, he found to his horror, a hand sticking out of its end. He pulled, and from behind it, emerged an arm, and the rest of the familiar torso, clad in a familiar shirt, this too, drenched in blood, a kitchen knife plunged into both arms and legs.

It was then that Dudley screamed, a scream filled with desperation and despair. The scream of an animal that had lost everything he ever had. Despite being annoyed with his parents most of the time for one thing or the other, they were still the closest people he ever had, people who loved him unconditionally. To see them so brutally massacred, so suddenly without any apparent reason, was a deadly blow to him. He broke down, sobbing in hysteria, his head, laid down on his father's chest.

For minutes, he stayed like that, until he realized, that there was an up down movement. His father's heartbeat! He suddenly got up, trying to listen for any breathing, and he saw it was very faint. Having watched too many movies for his own good, he knew exactly what he needed to do. Placing his hands on Vernon's chest, he pushed, and again and again, trying to somehow jumpstart his lungs into pumping oxygen through his system. His heartbeat, though faint, was still there. That meant there was still hope.

Continuing on for what felt like hours – though it was only minutes - every second of it was agony. Finally, Vernon opened his eyes, though his face retained its deathly pale. A flash of recognition running down his face, accompanied by relief as he saw his boy safe, he motioned for his pocket. Finding solace in the fact that he had successfully resuscitated his dad, Dudley complied, pulling out a wallet from Vernon's rear pocket.

"ATM… password… your birth… day," a strained voice squeezed out. It was evident that he was putting a whole lot of effort into this, knowing that conveying this information would be very important.

"Son, go! Run, he's a demon - " And with that, his breath cut off, having used up far more energy than he had in reserve. Afraid his father would leave him too, Dudley began once more to apply CPR to his dad, but even after several minutes, Vernon's heartbeat had reduced to even less than what it had been before. It took a while for it to sink in. That had been his last breath. Vernon Dursley was now officially dead, leaving him alone in this god-forsaken world, moaning in anguish.

Then he thought, _'The police, they can save him. They will know what to do. Dad's heart hasn't stopped yet. That's it!'_ Dudley stood up running for the telephone. He would call the police and then everything would be right again. That's what his teacher said.

Just as he reached the phone, a movement from below the table caused him to jerk away, as something long and brown propelled itself out of the small table aiming right at him. For a second his heart stopped, as he saw what was revealed to be a brown, scaled monstrosity coiled up ready to strike once more. Pushing the table out of the way, sending it flipping away, Dudley backed up.

"No one can help you now. You're completely at my mercy." He started as a voice called out from behind him. A voice he recognized, though its tone had taken a complete one eighty. Before him stood a short familiar figure, one he had often hunted when he felt adventurous. The short figure though was different today. Gone was the nervous lack of self esteem that he had come to associate with that face and voice. Gone was that scared look on his face, prepared to put his head down and bear with life as it was. Here was a boy who held his head high, seemingly in control of the situation when Dudley himself was at the verge of collapse.

Had Harry not said what he said, Dudley would never have imagined, not even in his wildest dreams, that he could be the instigator of such an occurrence. Despite the fact that Harry stood completely unscathed without any worry while his parents lay dead or dying, one of them in what was Harry's 'bedroom' should have given it away, but that meek countenance, submissive to any that would choose to make it subservient to his / her will would have cleared the freak of any suspicion. But now, that had all changed.

" _Strangle him, my friend."_ He hissed as the common adder lunged for the elder boy, constricting around his arms that he placed in front of him to ward of the snake. ( **AN: I'll try to be using this format for parseltongue. Italics with double quotes. Thoughts are with single quotes.** )

Though the adder was not a constrictor, given the mental predicament of his prey, it was a simple task to bind Dudley's arms together, and then snake its way up to his neck, looping around it over the course of half a minute. All this time, Dudley found himself unable to move, paralyzed by fear. Snakes were one of the things he could never manage to overcome his fear for. He could easily squash the lizards that would have Petunia screaming her throat dry, and could face off against boys several years his senior, but snakes, no. They absolutely terrified him, the way they were coiled up, ready to spring into action, ready to rush at their prey. And boy were they fast, once they were within striking distance of you, evading their assault was almost impossible. Watching hours of documentaries on them courtesy of Animal Planet and Discovery channel really didn't help.

So as it was that the viper coiled around his throat, squeezing lightly, he felt as if his time had come. He understood why his parents had said Harry was a freak. He had done this. And he felt no remorse whatsoever. He had killed his parents, and now, he was going to kill him too. With a strangled cry, he charged at the young shadow mage, hoping to take him down with him, as the viper exposed his fangs, biting into the last Dursley's neck. Once. Twice. Thrice.

Before his third step, Dudley collapsed. More important than the venom coursing through his veins was the psychological impact of a boy already wallowing in despair, when a giant snake, wrapped around his neck, bites into his body. Just the despondency from that alone would shatter his hopes, reducing them to dust. That, along with the debilitating effect of the venom ensured that he collapsed before reaching his lifelong nemesis.

Little Whinging bustled as usual, as Harry Potter advanced towards the young boy, a knife in his hand. A minute later, he walked away, a credit card in his hand, a blade sticking out of the elder boy's abdomen, as he lay there, bleeding out onto the carpet.

' _So the ATM password is your birthday, huh? Well, at least in death, my 'family' will care of me as they failed to do so while alive…'_

Harry opened the bathroom door as he walked in to wash up after the events of the past night, his new pet python following along. Harry was now free from the tyranny of the Dursleys, his rage having cooled down. They had been dealt justice through his hands. His revenge taken, his need satiated, Harry was now free to build for himself a life of his own. After all, the fetters of his previous life had been broken.

 **And Cut.**

 **AN:**

 **The common adder is one of the three snakes naturally found in the UK. A picture can be found on my profile. It's a type of viper.**

 **Tell me what you think of this chapter. Also, tell me what you guys would like.**

 **Anyway, I'm out.**


	3. Chapter 3: A World Of Magic

**Shadow Mage**

Chapter 3: A World of Magic

 **Disclaimer: Harry belongs to Rowling… I'm not into that owning people stuff anyway.**

 **TheOnlyKing: Many things could have happened, but I think it's better off this way. Keeping them alive served no purpose but holding Harry back. Besides, with how they treated Harry, it would be a wonder if he didn't kill them. Also, he could have kept them alive so that he could make them feel pain, but that would have gotten too monotonous, and one chapter worth of Dursley torture is enough for me. Also, I'm sorry if you wanted something else, but being dissatisfied is sort of like in the nature of human beings. People objected to the slow buildup of darkness in Naruto in my other story, Vengeful Sage, but now I'm hearing that I killed off the Dursleys too quick. I'm not saying that I don't appreciate your input, rather far from it. I love the fact that you guys are taking interest in my story. I'm just saying that not everybody can be happy. Thinking of how each and every person will react to a decision is outside the realm of man and in the realm of God. So, please continue to tell me what you like or dislike, but don't expect that what you say would necessarily be implemented straight away. Anyway, aside from that long rant, which was not meant to alienate you by the way, without further ado, let's move on with the chapter.**

It had been two years since that fateful night when Harry had exacted his revenge on the Dursleys. Two years since he had last felt powerless, weak, helpless. It had been two years since he had begun to truly live, a life that was no longer a mere shadow of what it should have been. He now lived a life where he and he alone controlled what he did and didn't do.

The first thing he had done after coming down from his magical high was to call the police and report the mysterious masked assailants who had broken into his home and murdered everyone as he hid in the cupboard under the stairs. Within the week, he had easily charmed his way into being adopted by a sympathetic couple, who felt so sorry for the 'poor lad' who had lost his only remaining family to some heartless scum, and had moved into their new house in London.

Two months at most he had lived with them, before that too came to an end. All he had needed from a guardian, he had obtained. He'd relied on his lonely orphan charm to make them take him in, change his last name to theirs, set up a bank account for him, use them to sell Number 4, buy a new house in his name, and then off them precisely the same way he'd gotten rid of his previous keepers, only this time he didn't have to deal with all the melancholic neighbors and their noisy sobbing. He was long gone by the time their bodies were discovered, and everyone who had known about him was now six feet under.

Freedom at last. He had enough money to last him as long as he lived, well assuming he didn't go out of his way to spend it. His uncle's debit card was valid for another year, and so was that other family's. He, however, had no need for either of them now, as he had squeezed both their accounts dry, pouring everything they contained into his own. He could live the way he wanted to in a place where no one knew who or where he was.

If he wasn't sure before the events two years ago, he was sure now that he was different. He was special. He was chosen and gifted with power. Dare he say it, with magic. His abilities continued to manifest themselves, and over the course of the two years past, he had perfected the art of merging with his shadow and moving while in such a state, for almost 20 minutes on end, something he had first discovered the night his magic had killed the Dursleys. Not only that, but he had also been able to recreate the ability to teleport between one shady place to another, if he had seen it before, though it was slightly draining on his body. He wasn't worried though. Compared to how it was in the beginning, the fatigue it caused him had been cut by a factor of about ten. He was still growing after all.

Even more interesting, though, was his power over various creatures, ranging from the smallest of spiders to the largest of wolverines. What all these creatures shared though, was a love for the dark. They each lived away from the sun, and seldom emerged from their hideaways in the shadows. He found that if he concentrated hard enough, he could command them to do as he desired, and they understood. And they obeyed. But above all, he could speak to snakes of all kinds, and they would speak back. In fact, he had gone out of his way to collect some of the most exotic species of serpents to add to his personal collection, which now roamed his house, and served as not only his perennial companions, but also as guardians to his residence.

One of the most practically useful of his abilities though, appeared to be some sort of mind power. If he focused hard enough, he could hear the thoughts of those that were around him, and once or twice, in desperate situations, he had even been able to make them do precisely what he had wanted, and he was sure that had he been anyone else, it wouldn't have been possible.

He had been enrolled in London's best and most highly renowned elementary-middle schools by his former guardians, and he had stayed there ever since. Putting all his efforts into his studies, combined with his lack of any semblance of a social life meant that he had no problems acing all his courses, coming up on top in each of them. There was an evident lack of any worthy competitors in the class though, and very soon, he had been bumped up to one of the accelerated programs. Even there, he was doing pretty well, though maintaining his position was not as simple as before. Despite Harry's hard work and genius, he had met his match in another child genius his age, who was also part of the accelerated program and working her way through eighth grade material just like him. Her name was Hermione Granger.

His relations with her had started off cordial enough, though her lack of socializing even among the bibliophiles of London ensured that he maintained a distance from her. This continued on until he volunteered for a project for which only she had also put her name up, and the two prodigies, for the first time, worked together. It was during this time that the two developed a healthy working relationship, and Harry began to truly respect the girl for not only her intelligence, but also her unparalleled work ethic.

It was around the same time, that he realized how much Hermione looked up to and was inspired by him. Not only was Harry the only person that proved to be a decent challenge for her, he was also her hero. For years, those of her peers not so gifted as herself – especially before she was promoted to the accelerated program – would often bully her and make her miserable as revenge for showing them up in class and being an overtly insufferable know-it-all.

This led to hours of crying in solitude as she wallowed in misery. That is until Harry showed up. Even though pretty much no one knew much about him and his background, nor did he spend much time befriending or socializing with others, one thing that became immediately apparent – especially to bullies – was his hate for those that would pick on others. Those that had tried to do so to him had learned that lesson the hard way.

Boys years older than him would feel intimidated as they stood before him, his confident and overwhelming demeanour more than making up for his lack of height. The deadly looking snake he kept up his sleeve surely didn't help. After being embarrassed in front of their peers at their inability to bully or out-talk their way into his money, his test answers, or anything else for that matter, and after seeing Harry's interactions with the girl, most of them had decided to leave Hermione Granger to herself. Apparently, the threat of a hissing serpent around your neck was sufficient deterrence for the despicable selves that they were.

Being as sharp as she was, Hermione easily realized why the bullying had come to an end, and slowly, she grew to appreciate and be inspired by his courage in the face of unlikely odds.

Deducing that the other was probably the only one capable of holding a decent intellectual conversation with themselves, the two gradually developed a scholastic sort of camaraderie. They would spend most of their free time at school studying together, taking refuge in the library from the obnoxiously ignorant world outside.

Coming back to the present though, today was special. Just last week, as he acquired his latest exotic species of his favourite reptile, it turned out that the boomslang he had obtained had a story to tell. A story of a great escape from poachers that had kept it for hours in captivity before it managed to bite its way to safety, until he had run into a boa constrictor from whom he had learnt of the existence of a speaker. A story of stick-waving and unnatural occurrences, where men in long billowing cloaks pursued him as they sought to catch him once more, their speech intoned with words of power.

Today though, was a Saturday, and he intended to find out exactly what this tale had been all about. Were there truly others out there that shared his very own powers over the material world? Or maybe some very small portion of it….

And so, we find young Harry Smith (his new last name as of two years ago) standing outside a gloomy looking pub, crowded in between a bookshop on one side and a record room on the other, a five foot boomslang hiding under his coat. In fact, had it not been for this snake constantly hissing into his ear, guiding him to his destination, he would never have found the place, rather he would have most likely looked over it, not noticing it in the slightest. However, that was neither here nor there.

He entered the door into an uproar of noise as the silent gloom of the street outside transformed into the thunderous cacophony of rowdy men and women sitting round tables merrymaking, drinking, having breakfast, or merely passing by. Despite his unusual attire, consisting of a coat, underneath a cloak and a hoodie pulled low over his face, no one paid him any mind. In fact, half of those passing by too donned similar clothing, ranging from the dull gray that he wore, to emerald, blue, red and to his horror, even pink! Not many of them, though, were wearing a hood that covered their face.

As he walked past, he found most of the other passersby congregating near a brick wall, where a man in a green cloak had removed a smooth foot long stick, one end ornamented with precious jewels and stones. Poking the stick – which looked like a picture perfect image of any fantasy novel illustration of a magic wand – onto what seemed to be random bricks embedded in the wall, the man stepped back as he withdrew his ' _wand'_. Immediately, the bricks quivered, and soon a small hole appeared in the middle, slowly growing larger and larger until it was big enough for a truck to comfortably drive by.

As the group of people crowded into the alley that opened up behind the now closing brick wall, Harry followed them in through the archway. Looking over his shoulder, he could see the archway shrink instantly into the wall. Before him was spread out an array of shops and stores, some indoors, some outdoors, some street hawkers, large advertising banners attempting to market 'Cauldron of All Sizes' and whatnot. As he moved along, he could see astonishing feats of what could be termed nothing but magic.

Huge trunks full of God knew what levitated behind a couple as they elegantly shopped along. Owls soared by in broad daylight, dropping newspapers into the awaiting hands of their recipients, pecking them in the head until they dropped the required number of bronze coins into the pouches in the birds' talons. An old man summoning to himself his dropped glasses, which he couldn't see in the first place.

Harry could now say that he was in over his head when he assumed that he, to the exclusion of all others, was the only one who had been gifted with such arcane powers. The things he saw now made it abundantly clear that he had merely scratched the tip of the iceberg.

Being the inquisitive mind that he was, he began to make his way to the nearest bookshop, wherever it was. Several times, he thought of asking someone, but then his will to remain inconspicuous prevailed, and he continued on with his exploration. Passing by Eeylops Owl Emporium, Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, the Apothecary, and much much more, he finally arrived at Flourish and Blotts Bookshop, which he hoped would hold the secret to this seemingly hidden world of magic.

Stepping foot into the not so busy shop, he stopped to think for a second.

' _What sort of book should I search for? What sort of book would explain everything about this world? Keeping in mind of course, that I can't let anyone know I am not one of them.'_

Deciding to play it safe, he walked over to the man at the counter.

"Excuse me. Could I find some books on the history of the magical world? Also, could you help me out with some reading material on our relations with the non-magical world?"

"Of course, follow me."

Having spent over ten minutes strolling down the aisles, he had decided upon several hefty tomes on history, including _Modern Magical History, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century._ Notably bulky among these books was _Hogwarts a History_ and _A Brief History of Time_. He tossed in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ because it felt interesting. Gathering up his collection and staggering under their weight, Harry carried all his books over to the counter.

"That'll be 14 galleons and 7 sickles."

A confused look appeared on Harry's face as he handed over his debit card. Seeing the card in the cloaked boy's outstretched hand, John White – well that's what his name tag identified him as – seemed to be just as confused. "Umm, the money please…"

Realizing that the person had no idea what a debit card was, Harry fished in his pocket for as many pounds as he could find. _'These guys must be lagging pretty far behind in terms of technology if he doesn't even know what a debit card is…'_

Presenting a twenty pound note to the man, he asked, "Will this be enough?"

A flash of recognition spread across his face as he exclaimed, "Oh, you must be a muggleborn. You should have said so. Unfortunately, we don't take muggle money though. You can go get the money changed into galleons at Gringotts. It's the large white building towards the center of the alley. You can't miss it. In the meanwhile, I'll keep your books here on hold."

Leaving everything on the counter, Harry left the shop.

"Hey, could I know your name, young man!"

"Sure, it's Harry. Harry Smith."

With that, he left.

Walking past the same set of shops he had just seen earlier, Harry stood before the snowy white building that towered over all the other shops. Standing beside its bronze doors was the ugliest dwarf harry had ever seen – he barely looked human.

' _I wonder what the hell that is? Never mind. I just need to get the money exchanged…'_

Ignoring the wonders of architecture and beauty the building was comprised of as well as all the random engravings on the walls, Harry proceeded into the great marble hall, where a good many _'things'_ just like the dwarf he had just seen sat behind a never-ending row of counters, some of them dealing with men and women donning a wide assortment of clothes, some with cloaks and others without.

Walking over to a teller, he asked. "How much for 15 galleons in …, uh, Muggle money?"

' _I think that's the word the shopkeeper used…'_

"That'll be about 75 pounds please." The grumpy looking teller replied.

"Umm, do you accept debit cards?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, we do. For a fee, we can offer you a Gringotts debit card wired to your muggle one. This Gringotts card will work for you both in the Muggle as well as the Wizarding world."

"How much can I get this card for?"

"Five Galleons, and ten galleons each year for services. Just swipe your muggle card here."

"Sure."

A minute later, Harry Smith was walking out of the bank, his ticket to a blind shopping spree ( **read: all the books he wants** ) in his hands.

Two weeks later, he was back. Since he had first gone home from Diagon Alley two weeks ago, he had spent all the time he could spare to reading about the Wizarding world. Ranging from the story of the founders of Hogwarts, legends about Merlin and the Kingdom of Camelot, the establishment of the Wizengamot, the formation of the ICW, the setting up of the International Statue of Secrecy and finally some more recent events, including Grindelwald's involvement with the second world war and the rise and sudden fall of the Dark Lord Voldemort at the hands of a one year old Harry Potter – namely himself.

He had first thought he may have been what was known as a muggleborn. But then, he remembered how his aunt and uncle spoke of his parents and he thought they too must have come from the wizarding world, or at least they must have exhibited some sort of arcane abilities. The final nail to the coffin though, was this. The Potters were an old wizarding family, and rich. And powerful. And that was what he was going to find out today.

' _And get some spell books too.'_

And so we find the young man standing before the great doors of Gringotts once more. Harry looked around as he casually strolled into the hall, approaching what he now knew to be a goblin, the words engraved on the wall behind him playing around in his mind.

 _Enter, stranger, but take heed_

 _Of what awaits the sin of greed,_

 _For those who take, but do not earn,_

 _Must pay most dearly in their turn._

 _So if you seek beneath our floors_

 _A treasure that was never yours,_

 _Thief, you have been warned, beware_

 _Of finding more than treasure there_

He had read stories about the untimely demise of those who had attempted to break into Gringotts under a disguise – they hadn't returned with their lives… As a result, he had come in the sort of robes he could blend in easily with. Plus the large cap of course. It wouldn't do for the lightning shaped scar on his forehead to give him away before it was necessary. He of course, assumed that the goblins were professional enough to keep his identity under wraps. They must be, else they would be out of business in a heartbeat.

Regardless, he meandered over to a teller, and spoke, "I would like to visit the Potter vault."

Without looking up from his desk, the goblin replied, "Key?"

"I don't have it sir. I've come to claim it."

"Name?"

"Harry Potter."

A look of interested surprise etched itself onto the otherwise irritated looking goblin, who finally deemed it worth his time to look up from whatever it was he was busy doing. Harry lifted up his cap for good measure. Seeing what was undoubtedly being presented as corroborating evidence to the young boy's seemingly improbable claim – he had been dead to the world for almost ten years after all - the goblin reached into a drawer and pulled out something similar to what the muggles used to measure blood sugar level – a small device that was fixed onto his finger, with a tiny needle inside that would pinprick the end, withdrawing miniscule amounts of blood. And with that, words began to appear on the set of parchment that lay on the desk between them.

 _Harry James Potter_

 _Son of: James Potter and Lily Potter nee Evans_

Clearly not expecting this, the teller sat there for a couple seconds, before calling out, "Griphook!"

A young goblin – from the looks of it – sauntered out from the back of the bank, and came up right next to the other goblin that had been dealing with Harry up till now.

"This young man here is Harry James Potter, as certified by the magic in his blood. He wishes to see the Potter vault," turning to Harry, he continued, "Griphook here will be dealing with your account, as he did for your father and grandfather before you."

The goblin motioned for Harry to follow him as he led him into a private room towards the back. "What can I do for you, Mr. Potter?"

"I'd like to see my parents' account. Also, I'd appreciate it if my identity was kept secret, and no one knew that I was here."

Despite having nothing to hide (except maybe the blood of half a dozen on his shoulders), Harry did not want to be found before he was to attend Hogwarts. He didn't want to deal with the attention and the restrictions that being under the custody of another would involve. He wanted to live life as _he_ wanted, not what others wanted. He wanted to be free, and stay that way.

"Of course, Mr Potter. That's basic company policy. Information concerning our clients is their own, as long as they wish to withhold it. Ah, here we are."

Griphook reached out to the doorknob in front of him, which opened into a spacious office with a desk by the window opposite the entrance, and the side walls lined with portraits of what must have been notable members of the goblin nation.

"Please have a seat." The goblin motioned for the chair in front of the desk.

He reached into a drawer in the desk, and pulled out a thick ledger, which looked like it had seen its fair share of years lying about in the desk.

"The Wizarding world was in quite an uproar at your disappearance, Mr Potter. Many believed you to be dead. In fact, just two years ago, we decided to freeze all of your accounts."

"Yes, I've read the stories. Not an ounce of truth to them… And what exactly do you mean by freezing my accounts?" The calm façade with which he had entered the bank remained present on his face, though just the thought sent his heart into turmoil. He had been depending on gaining access to his family's vaults. Who knew how much wealth, knowledge, heirlooms and so much more would be lying there, ripe for the picking. With the sort of plans he had made over the past two weeks, the funds from his muggle bank accounts would be squeezed dry before he reached his eleventh birthday.

"According to standard Gringotts policy, if the owner of a vault dies, and no heir presents himself within seven years, then the vault is frozen. That means that any and all payments to and from that account are halted, and no one can withdraw anything from it, not even if he or she is in possession of a key. This is for general vaults. In the case of a trust vault, it is frozen the moment the owner dies."

"And what if an heir appears after that?" Harry cut in.

"Allow me to continue. If no heir appears for fifty years, then all money present in the vault would become property of Gringotts, while any artefacts that were not of Goblin origin present inside would be kept in a separate vault, until they are claimed by their rightful heirs."

"So then, what is the current status of any vaults to which I hold a claim?"

"Originally, Gringotts was not going to freeze the Potter family vault, given that it was common knowledge that the Potters had a son, you that is. However, towards the end of the seventh year since your parents' death, news spread that you had died. Initially, Albus Dumbledore tried very hard to convince the public that you had only gone missing, and that you would turn up any time. However, his inability to produce any proof to the contrary cemented the rumour and the ministry declared that the boy-who-lived lived no more. In fact, he may never have lived at all. Harry Potter's alleged surviving of the killing curse was deemed by most skeptics as nothing but a myth. Your trust vault was frozen, and so was the Potter family vault upon completion of the seven year period. Until today that is."

"And what now?"

"Now that your survival has been confirmed, your trust vault may be reactivated and you may make use of it. Would you like to do that?"

"Yes please."

"And would you like for Albus Dumbledore, your former magical guardian to be reinstated and notified of your change in circumstances?"

"No thank you."

"And would you like for the monthly payment of the equivalent of a thousand galleons to a Vernon Dursley, as prescribed by Mr Dumbledore be continued?"

"Yes, please." The boy answered without missing a beat, though the expressions on his face showed his complete ignorance concerning the nature of these payments.

"And would you like for your magical guardian to retain access to your vault as was before it was frozen?"

Silence…

This Dumbledore had access to his personal trust vault? By whose authority? In what capacity?

Reigning in his tumultuous feelings, Harry replied, "No. Who made him my magical guardian?"

"Your parents' will was read out while you were yet a baby, and it gave a list of people who could gain custody of you in case they died. All the others on the list were either indisposed, unavailable or unfit to care for you, and as a result, you were given to Albus Dumbledore. However, once news of your death had been confirmed, this guardianship officially came to an end."

"There must be some sort of mistake though. I've never met Albus Dumbledore in my life! Merely read about him in some history books dealing with the events of the current century. In fact, all my life, I've been living with muggles… I didn't even know about the magical world till recently."

A look of shock was clearly evident on the goblin's face. For the hero of Wizarding kind, especially the magical populace of Britain, to be abandoned to the custody of muggles was inconceivable.

"That is unbelievable, had you been a goblin, you would have been raised like royalty! To be left to live with muggles with no knowledge of your significance to the world… This is grounds for applying for emancipation. Neglect of the utmost degree by your magical guardian, coupled with the fact that you've managed to survive so long without his help would create a strong enough of a case to get you emancipated once you turn eleven."

"Well then, we will cross that bridge when we have to. In the meanwhile, please tell me whether I can gain access to the main Potter vault." Harry questioned, redirecting the conversation to what was relevant for the time being.

"For anyone other than the Head of House, there is a withdrawal limit of ten thousand galleons per month. Also, none of the artefacts inside may be removed unless by the Head of House, or the one that placed them there. Of course, if you are emancipated, then you will become the Head of House Potter, and thus also be able to withdraw anything without restriction…"

"I see. Could I tour these vaults now then?"

"Of course."

An hour later, after having learnt much about the Potter family's wealth and their investments, as well as catching a glimpse of all the magical heirlooms that lay within their vaults, as well as witnessing the dragon that stood guard outside its doors, Harry Potter now stood at the entrance to Knockturn Alley, where Griphook had informed him he could buy a wand discretely, without the Ministry of Magic being any the wiser. His hood drawn low so as to cover his face, and his Gringotts Debit card connected to two new accounts, he waited until the coast was clear, and then, in an instant, he merged with his shadow.

After two years of practice, merging with his shadow had become second nature to him. Moving in that state required no more concentration than walking above the ground on his own two feet did, though the drain of his magical core was still something. Hopefully, that would improve over time. But still, he had gone from exhaustion after a measly ten seconds to mild fatigue at twenty minutes.

As Harry's shadow moved into the dark sides of the alley, his shadow lost itself in the shades of the buildings on either side. Completely outside the range of anyone's sight, he swam forwards. He passed by a young woman making out with an unkempt middle aged man, a bag full of coins grasped in her hand. He chanced upon a boy twice his own age being surrounded by thugs who were dragging him into a dark corner to the side, as he flailed left and right.

' _Pathetic. He didn't even try to defend himself. Must have been a squib.'_

Even when he hadn't been captured yet, the boy who might have been of age already did not even attempt to use his wand, merely cowering as his would be assailants caught him and began to haul him away. He got what he deserved anyway. In this world, there was only magic, and those too weak to wield it.

He finally came to a stop before his final destination.

 _Selwyn's House of Magical Foci_

 **And Cut.**

 **AN:**

 **Tell me what you think of this chapter. Also, tell me what you guys would like.**

 **Some of the description of Diagon Alley comes from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone.**

 **Also, don't forget to check out my Naruto story,** _ **Vengeful Sage!**_

 **Anyway, I'm out.**


	4. Chapter 4: What Hogwarts Doesn't Know

**Shadow Mage**

Chapter 4: What Hogwarts Doesn't Know…

 **anotherboarduser: You asked why Harry would approve of payment to the Dursleys? Well, first of all, he has control of their bank account, so it goes into his pockets anyway. Second, since he has a limit on how much he can withdraw from the main vault, and the trust vault is refilled to a certain amount quarterly, it actually means he can juice out more money in reality. I had forgotten to mention though, about the refilling. I've gone back and added it. I hope that clears it up. If not, tell me and I'll elaborate.**

Harry Potter stood before a dark looking building, with a half worn out signboard hanging above, as inconspicuous as could be.

As he entered, there was nobody around. The counter was bare, with nothing there to indicate that the shop was open. Racks full of what could have been shoeboxes lined the walls, until they led to a door at the end of the corridor. He knocked twice, but upon getting no response, Harry's patience ran out and he barged in. The difference was immediately noticeable. Where the outside was dark and barely lit, the inside practically dazzled him with its light.

Tables were arrayed with boxes that lay open, some filled with lengths of wood, others empty. Towards the back of the room, a cauldron lay boiling. Hunched over a table in the center was an old man waving his wand over an assortment of crates, each seemingly filled with a different substance. On the table before him, half a dozen tomes lay open, strewn haphazardly across the surface. He appeared to be utterly engrossed in his work.

It took Harry loudly clearing his throat twice before the man realized he was no longer alone. Without lifting his head, he called out, "What is it, Vlottman? I've told you not to disturb me when I'm working."

"Umm, I presume you would be Mr Selwin…," Harry offered hesitantly.

Turning towards the new arrival, he said, "Oh sorry. I thought you were my assistant. Sometimes I wonder why I've kept him so long. Always disappearing when there's a customer at the shop. No wonder we haven't had much business lately. But I digress. How may I help you, - ", the man broke off.

"Smith, Harry Smith. Pleased to meet you." Harry filled in, offering his hand as he arrived near the table the old wand maker occupied.

"I was wondering if I could have a custom made wand, made outside Ministry Surveillance."

"Of course, that's what runs my business. Ensured confidentiality and customer trust. Not to mention, complete lack of any records or documentation. On paper, half of my wands don't even exist." A hint of pride toned the man's declaration, as he pulled out a chair for Harry to sit at.

"And the trace?"

"No trace."

"Excellent!" Harry returned, beaming.

"So, Mr Smith - "

"Harry. Please call me Harry." He interrupted.

"Ah, yes. Harry, as I was saying, what specifications did you have in mind for the wand?"

"Specifications, as in….? What parameters are we talking here?"

The blank look on Harry's face told Selwyn all he needed to know about the boy's knowledge of wand lore.

"The types of wood, wand core, length, design, etc etc etc."

"Sir, I believe that finding out what would suit me best would be best left in the capable hands of a wand maker such as yourself. There is, after all, the famous saying among practitioners and students of wand lore: It is the wand that chooses the wizard, not the other way around."

"Quite an interesting way of saying that you have no clue what sort of wand you want…"

A sheepish expression came across Harry's face, which he quickly schooled back into that straight face that he had grown to wear almost perpetually.

"Very well, then. Allow me to take your measurements, then we will move on with the process."

With a swish of Selwin's wand, a tape measure flew out from one of his drawers and – holding itself aloft magically somehow – began to twist and turn, as it stretched and maneuvered to get Harry's limbs and torso all mapped out. Having done so, he asked, "What's your dominant wand arm?"

"The same as the hand I write with I suppose... You do realize this is my first wand, right?"

"I see. Well then. Would you prefer a wand with a greater tendency for light or dark magic?"

"Dark."

"I see. And should it be more aligned towards charms, curses, transfiguration, or none in particular?"

"None. Learning all types of magic is important. I don't know why someone would get their wand fine tuned for specific branch of magic."

"Well then. I will have you try out certain wands, each with both your right and your left hand, so we can see which hand, wood and core you have an affinity for. You must keep in mind though, that this method is purely experimental, and even though it should elucidate which combination is the best for you, there is a slight chance that it doesn't give the results we are hoping for. In that case, you will still be bound to buy it at the very same price of eighty galleons that you would have paid otherwise. Are you willing to proceed?"

"Hmm… How likely is this chance that the wand doesn't fit?"

A smug smile on his face, the wand maker replied, "Highly improbable. I _am_ an expert after all, if I do say so myself."

"Very well then, go ahead." Harry nodded towards the man.

The old man walked over to one of the racks to the side and retrieved an ancient looking bracelet with what could pass as an LED screen in most muggle circles seemingly fixed onto it. However, it turned out to be quite detachable as he spelled it off and laid it face up on the table, while clasping it closed around Harry's wrist.

"Now, you must not concentrate on your magic as you wave the wands I give you. You must think of them as nothing more than a regular stick, else the reliability of our investigation will fall. The screen here will notify me of what affinities you possess."

Then after pulling out a set of quills and a small booklet, which entered the date and Harry's name (Entry Number 3452) on their own as the man said them out loud, he motioned for Harry to begin.

And so began the tiresome process of waving about one wand after the other, first with his right hand, next with his left, while Mr Selwin had his gaze firmly centered on the numbers flashing across the screen before him, noting down his observations. Sometimes his efforts produced sparks – sometimes green, red, blue or even black – while other times, there was a heated feeling in his arm, and others still, produced nothing.

Nevertheless, the quill, which seemed to require no verbal prompting, continued to scribble down loads of numbers onto what Harry theorized was a long series of entries not much different from an Excel document.

Mr Selwin face though, seemed to don sporadic impressed, disappointed, surprised, and indifferent expressions as the two went on with the experiment. About an hour and a half later, when Harry's wrist had started to ache from swishing it this way or that, the old shopkeeper had no other wands to offer.

"Thank goodness." The boy mumbled under his breath.

"You may think that this process was even more fatiguing than what wand makers would usually run you through, however, this method has been highly consistent in providing the best results, and this set of statistical data will remain as a reference point should you ever require another wand to be made. You may take it from me once your wand is complete. I will have it by the end of the week. One last thing though. What would you like for the design?"

"A comfortable grip and a snake head intertwining with another around it. As long as it's elegant, I don't have too many things I want about the design."

"Good."

"Shall I pay upon receipt then?"

"For custom made wands, I work with a fifty percent deposit, so that would be forty galleons upfront, and the rest on Saturday when you receive your wand. I hope that's not a problem."

"None at all."

"Will you be paying in coins or by card?"

"Card."

"Swipe here then."

Having paid the required amount, he waved to the shopkeeper as he made for the door, "Till Saturday then."

"Take care, young man."

Five days later, Harry stood inside _Selwyn's House of Magical Foci._ A young man stood behind the counter, seeming bored beyond belief. His face lit up as his eyes fell upon Harry's figure, relieved to finally see another human being.

"Hello. How may I help you?"

"I'm here to pick up a custom order I gave on Monday. Would it be ready by now?"

"What was your order number?"

"Order 3452…"

Looking down a list of orders, he found it. "It is. Please wait here while I bring it."

With that, the young man retreated into the back of the store. A minute later, he returned, an old man trailing behind him. "Hello, Harry."

"Hi, Mr Selwyn."

"Here it is," he said, pointing towards a box that his assistant held in his hands.

"Yew and Thestral hair, fifteen inches. Firm and unyielding. Very good for all sorts of magic, though it will be more aligned towards neutral and more dark forms of magic. You may have problems with intense light magic. Maybe a secondary wand for such purposes would not be unwarranted."

Opening up the box, and removing the wand, Harry felt something different about this wand. All his previous experiences with wand waving paled before this one, and as he grasped it between his fingers, he could feel the energy emanating from within. It was a wand of power.

The design was precisely as he had asked, a pair of serpents intertwined with each other, jaws opened wide. This was a hallmark in his magical career, and several years down the road, he would think back to this day as his first step to attaining a place of power in this world.

"It feels perfect."

"Why, thank you. It took a lot of time and hard work. Your results were quite extraordinary." The old man looked on with a smile.

"Really?"

"The recording apparatus sensed very high levels of magical output, the sort one would expect from a fully trained adult. The combination for the wand has been done before, though very rarely. I'm expecting great things from this wand and from you as a person. Here, this holster comes with it."

Collecting the wand holster – which would fit onto his wrist - from Mr Selwyn, he strapped it on, inserting his wand where it was supposed to go.

"Thank you sir."

XXX

Harry Potter was now the proud owner of his very own wand, a full year before he would have gotten one. As soon as he got home, he began to practice. Starting with the simplest of charms like Wingardium Leviosa, and moving onto the slightly more advanced spells. September came and passed him by. By then, he had given all of the first year books a once over, and was well on his way practicing them. Not only that, but he had started sacrificing his school study time to reading through some of those general magical history books. So much so, in fact, that Hermione Granger, his pseudo-rival at school had finally managed to pull ahead in this year's classes, and was looking quite smug for over two weeks.

When the same situation persisted, and October rolled in, she began to get worried. One Thursday afternoon, she cornered him at the end of classes and saw him browsing through a book twice as big as any of their course books.

"Harry!"

"Hello, Hermione," he replied, not for a moment looking up from his book.

"Harry, is something bothering you?" She asked, the concern unmistakably pronounced in her voice.

"No, not really," came the same monotone reply.

"I'm serious. What's wrong with you these days? You've stopped asking questions in class, you haven't come to our joint study session in almost a month and your grades are slipping. You could be doing so much better. If something is bothering you, you can tell me…"

"Maybe I was burning out, and I decided to take a break from studying."

' _Finally he looks up.'_

"What _are_ you reading anyway?" She made to snatch the heavy book from his hands, but he pulled it away just in time.

"It's just a fantasy book I'm reading. None of your business."

Hermione Granger though, was not to be denied. "Can I at least see it?" And with that, she took hold of the book and flipped it over to see the front cover before Harry could retract it once more.

" _Hogwarts: A History!_ Oh my God! Harry, you're a wizard!"

Hermione loosening her grip as she stood, her jaw agape in shock, Harry took the opportunity to seize his book once more, stuffing it in his bag.

"I don't know what you're talking about?" He said as he tried hard to maintain a straight face, a battle he was losing however. His facial expressions were on the verge of betraying him.

Hermione continued on staring at the boy, looking him over as if it were the first time. She thought back to the day he had appeared with a snake draped around his shoulders, completely at ease as though it were under his control. She remembered how people who annoyed either Harry or even herself in front of him invariably ended up with a burning migraine, usually spanning several days for which they would remain absent. More importantly though, her gaze fell upon his face, which showed signs of restraint as he strove to maintain his composure. The panicked looking eyes, the faint signs of sweat appearing on his brow, his jet black hair falling onto his forehead, framing a red scar in the shape of a lightning bolt…

' _Wait what? Lightning shaped scar, just the right age, born on 31_ _st_ _July, and his name is Harry…'_

"Good Gracious! You're Harry Potter!"

The dread manifest on Harry's face gave it all away.

"How do you know that name?"

"It's only in like _every book on contemporary history!_ Your lightning bolt scar. Your first name. Your magical abilities. You're an orphan. There's no other possibility. But the books said you had been hidden years ago, and that two years ago, you had died…"

Harry resigned himself to the fact that the bubble of secrecy he had wrapped around himself had finally been popped. _'Well, it was bound to happen someday…'_

"Around the same time that I enrolled here."

"…"

"So I'm assuming you're a muggleborn then?"

"Yes, first witch in the family. I'll be going to Hogwarts next year. What about you? Will you be going too? Have you bought the books yet? Have you read them? What house do you think you'll be in? How come you haven't shown yourself to the world then?" She took in a sharp breath, and then, having said her part, looked to Harry expectantly.

"In that order: Yes, I will be going to Hogwarts next year. I _have_ bought the books, and have skimmed through them. I think I'll be in Slytherin, but Ravenclaw would be fine as well. I haven't shown myself to the world because I haven't felt like it." Unlike a certain bushy haired overzealous eleven year old, he actually punctuated the end of each sentence with a pause.

"Why would you want to be in Slytherin?" She started, scandalized. "That's where all the dark wizards go. I'd love to be in Ravenclaw though. Imagine a house full of people who appreciate knowledge like it should be appreciated. At least the kids there wouldn't be as insufferable as the rowdy crowd that fills Gryffindor or Hufflepuff."

"Well. It's true that most dark wizards come from Slytherin, but so do most of the influential figures in the magical world, as well as the elite political bureaucracy. Most anyone with any say in what goes on in the world has ties to Slytherin House. It _is_ the house of the ambitious, after all. Did you know that headmaster Dumbledore, the Dark Lord, as well as the Minister for Magic and his Undersecretary all come from Slytherin?"

"Well, you _do_ have a point there… But still, we could learn so much in Ravenclaw…" She insisted.

"A discussion for another time, perhaps." Harry really wasn't in the mood for this right now. What he really wanted to know about though, was something else. "I'm curious though, were you ever discriminated against for being a freak, or for exhibiting any magical behavior? What about your parents? How do they feel about this?"

"My mother is okay with it. She thinks I'll finally find a place where I belong, where I can get along with everybody else. Where I can relate to them. My dad, though, he's always been a devout Christian, and he thinks I should get an exorcism or something. He tried getting me one of those before when I first displayed accidental magic. Some bullies twice as big as myself were bullying me and some others just because they could; they would knock all of our books to the floor and wait till we could pick them, then repeat. I got so frustrated that I shoved the boy away – and somehow my strength multiplied manifold – I shoved him so hard in fact that he skidded the ten feet to the wooden cabinets by the wall and he broke through them to the other side."

A sad look came into her eyes as Hermione resumed her story, "All of the people that saw it happen started to fear me, and I was ostracized by all my former friends, and the only ones who appreciated me were the teachers because I could answer all their tests. So much so, that, I eventually had to leave that school and come to this one."

"Even my dad thought I was possessed by some demon or something and he wanted to have me looked at by a priest. And, despite my mother's constant begging, he _did_ come home with an exorcist who asked me questions, which I truthfully answered. However, he was convinced that there really was something freakishly unnatural about me, which he sought to remedy by tying me up and literally drowning me in a tub full of 'Holy Water'. I thought I would die, until mum intervened and pulled me out."

"It was awful. I hope nothing like that happened to you… Come to think of it, who _do_ you live with? You've never invited anyone over and I've never seen your foster parents. Do they know who you are?"

Harry was silent, not sure whether he should tell her anything about his life. His dark secrets. She too had been subjected to the hate that muggles held for magic in any form. She too had felt it. But would she understand? Or would she rat him out? Would he have to dispose of her the same way he dealt with anyone else that knew too much?

Hermione held much value as an ally. In both the muggle world as well as the magical one. Her thirst for knowledge as well as her near eidetic memory would take her far. No, it was too risky. He would stick with the official story until he knew the time was right.

"After my parents died, my aunt and uncle took me in. I lived with them till I was eight. It was then that some masked individuals attacked our home. They broke in and killed my aunt, uncle and cousin, while I hid in a cupboard. It was that day that I first discovered my magic. They were searching for me, and had I not hidden, my family would have sold me out. They held no real love for me, considering me a burden unjustly left on their shoulders by my aunt's witch of a sister. When the cops arrived, they left me in the care of a new family, who were nicer than my old one, and who didn't know of my magical heritage. To forget everything about my old life, I took on their name. They were very rich, and I was nothing more than a puppet son for them to parade here and there, a son who was a genius at everything." He made a disgusted face at that, "The thought that your son is only as valuable as the amount of money he can net you once he graduates absolutely disgusted me."

"Once, I exhibited the ability to talk to animals, and they completely freaked out, and I overheard talk that they intended to replace me. I could take no more, and I ran away, not attending school for several days. As chance would have it, my family met with an unfortunate roadside accident a week later, and I could come out of hiding. I didn't mourn their loss. I realized that no matter where you go, all muggles are the same. Their fear of anything 'freakish', as they would call it, becomes obsessive, and it often overrules their own rationality. It's no wonder the International Confederation of Wizards unanimously agreed on the Statue of Secrecy, which is still in effect today. Muggles and magicals just don't mix. Our powers soar far above and beyond their puny spheres of cognition."

"I don't know. I would still like to think that not all muggles are like that…" She trailed off, noticeably disturbed by his story.

"Forget about it. Anyway, so have you started practicing any of your spells yet?" He had said enough for today. Rome wasn't built in a day after all. If he wanted Hermione as a supporter in the future, then he would have to reveal his plans gradually, giving her time to think; maybe even tailor the evidence to corroborate with his world view.

"Well, I've practiced the wand motions, and I've read up on the theory, but you know we're not allowed to perform magic outside of school. We'll get expelled if we do!" She exclaimed, practically shouting.

A superior smirk graced Harry's features as he retorted, "What Hogwarts doesn't know can't hurt it…"

As the boy continued to explain, the scandalized look on the bushy haired young witch transformed into an excited beam, fantasizing about the possibilities for the year to come.

 **And Cut.**

 **AN:**

 **The response to the last chapter was much better than I was expecting. Also, thanks to everyone else that reviewed and made my day. I'm hoping you'll keep the support coming. In return, the good response motivated me to pump out another chapter for Shadow Mage so soon. (Well, soon for me. Some of you guys may not think so…)**

 **Also, for those of you who are in charge of communities… If you like this story, please add it to your community archives.**

 **In that respect, I'd like to thank LegalAlien1, arodves59, who were the first to add Shadow Mage to their respective communities.**

 **Also, no offense is meant to Christianity when I say Mr Granger is a devout Christian, so he disapproves of magic. This is a fact; most religions consider sorcery to be a sin, as it violates the laws God has prescribed for mankind. I too am of the same opinion. This is merely a work of fiction, and depicts in no way my own character, point of view, beliefs or feelings.**

 **I'm trying to do justice to both my stories though, so my next update will probably be for my Naruto story -** _ **Vengeful Sage! -**_ **don't forget to check it out.**

 **Tell me what you think of this chapter. Also, tell me what you guys would like.**

 **I'm out.**


	5. Chapter 5: Quest for Allies, Part 1

**Shadow Mage**

Chapter 5: Quest for Allies, Part 1

 **Disclaimer: I own what I own, nothing else. If anything in this chapter seems remotely similar to something you've read before, I probably didn't come up with it, nor do I claim to have done so, so don't waste your time and my own trying to sue me for it. Thanks. Regards, lamejoke911.**

A young boy sat comfortably holed up in one of the last compartments of the train, a young bushy haired girl his age perched on the seat across from him. Their trunk had already been placed up above, not much of a problem when each was fitted with a feather light charm, allowing even their small bodies to lift them up without the aid of additional muscle, machine or magic.

Each of the two had their own set of books they were reading out in front of them, neither interfering with what the other was mulling over. The boy reached up to readjust his cap, which extended far below his hairline, almost up to his eyebrows in a desperate bid to avoid the tons of questions he would be faced if he were to reveal his lightning bolt scar to the ignorantly foolish and ridiculously rude masses. Harry Potter (that's what she had gotten up to calling him as of late) was stretched out over the bench, an olive green king cobra draped over his shoulder, laying its head on his lap as it slept. The young boy stroked the top of its head gently as he continued browsing through a list of his first year potions book.

Despite having gone through the list of ingredients and their properties once before during the past year, he was not Hermione Granger, nor did he delude himself into believing so. He could not boast the level of eidetic memory that she could, and thus, made sure to revise one last time before term began the following day. After all, potions had been one of the few subjects the two had not too keenly practiced over their last year together at high school. Lack of a working lab, as well as Hermione's fear of messing up without the supervision of a qualified master meant they had had to put off that segment of their magical education till when they actually learned it under a professor at Hogwarts.

Speaking of Hermione, she sat across from him, leaning into the window pane as she flipped through her copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ , marking out certain creatures as possible additions of worth to their collection. She had come to think of it as _'theirs',_ even though it was technically just Harry's. It was acquired through either his money, efforts or contacts, and kept at his house, but still, Harry never gave her any indication that it was anything but ' _theirs'_ , something that was shared between the two of them. A matter of pride for just the pair.

The two had grown quite close over the past year, much closer, in fact, than the first two years they had known each other. It was most probably (in her not so humble opinion) because Harry had opened up to her (relatively) now that he knew she could relate, now that he knew she too was a magical, someone who could understand his problems and had probably had a taste herself of what it was like to be discriminated against because of her magic. Not only for reminiscing's sake alone though, they both knew that if the muggle world was bigoted against magic and any semblance of unnaturalness or freakish behavior, the magical world too was bigoted against people who came from muggle backgrounds, or weren't, strictly speaking, _'pure of blood'_.

Oh, how she hated that kind of ideology. And she knew Harry did too. Despite being able to blend in with his status as a half-blood, she knew he was radically opposed to the idea of being judged by your parentage. Nor did he believe in all that bogus about purebloods being better wizards than muggleborns or half-bloods, though the question of magically powerful remained to be explored.

After all, no categorical statement was to be made, not even in the hypothetical sense, before some sort of empirical indication presented itself, not necessarily enough to constitute evidence, but at least some observation or rational deduction based on established knowledge in the field, which it turned out, was pitifully minimal at best. That was the crux of the scientific method, what had brought mankind out of the stone age into the silicon era, well, the predominantly muggle segment at least. As far as the Wizarding world was concerned, they had progressed along with the muggles up until the Statue of Secrecy was installed, after which, the decline began. It wasn't until muggles discovered electricity, which magicals found to be incompatible with regions saturated in magic that the decision leading to dismissal of muggle technology as a whole and utter dependence upon the gifts that magic afforded them was made. (Yes, I digress!)

Anyway, Harry was so much more open now than a year ago. Back then, the only thing they could talk about was related to science, or history or mathematics, or something else along those lines. Now, it would not be unusual for the two to be discussing past events of their lives – she more than Harry – or their plans for the future, or what they thought of the world as a whole.

Harry was still pretty tightlipped about what had happened at his old relatives place, though, but she guessed that was expected. It must have been traumatic, though Harry didn't seem like the kind of guy who could ever possibly experience trauma. He was so confident, bold and unerring. She too was bold, but had always felt insecure about herself, her social skills and the perception others had of her. He, on the other hand, with his devil may care attitude, attracted her to him, made him look up to him even more, made her want to be like him.

Many a weekend, they had spent together, holed up at either her place or his, or maybe even the library, doing this or that, or discussing this thing or that. In the beginning, her father especially was wary of this new boy in his little girl's life, someone who seemed to have just popped up out of nowhere, with no family that anyone knew of, and just when all this magic business had sprung up to make matters complicated by default. But eventually, he relented when he could find no fault with him.

Months passed by, and he saw his shy, insecure, bullied, and emotionally volatile daughter grow into a much more confident, extraverted, and strong young girl, taking advantage of that intelligence that she had always had. She had grown from someone who always aced her school tests and memorized her textbooks to someone who could innovate, build, and even enjoyed the thrill of applying her knowledge to practical situations more than the theory itself.

And enjoy she did. Knowing that she was well on the way to success no matter what avenue she chose. Whether she chose to work in the muggle world or the Wizarding one, though truth be told, that was a no-brainer. The sheer amount of dependence on magic in the Wizarding world was indicative of the lack of knowledge of the natural sciences that they possessed. She would be able to take advantage of that. After all, the laws of physics were absolute universally so far as a supernatural omnipowerful being did not choose to interfere with them.

And then, there were their plans. Harry's plans. His ambitions. _'Their plans',_ she reminded herself. Plans of revolutionizing the entire world. Ushering in a new era of prosperity and development, where all magical people would be treated without discrimination, merit being the only judging criteria of a person's worth. Intellect, magic, diligence – these would grant a person power, or strip it away. She liked the sound of that. She would be with Harry each step of the way.

Lost in thought, Hermione started when the compartment door was violently shoved open. In under a second, she had her wand out, a spell on her lips. Spending time with Harry would make anyone paranoid and wary. It appeared to be a false alarm though, as the intruder was only a boy no older than themselves, though the frustrated look on his face looked quite out of place on a child off to his first day at Hogwarts.

Harry seemed to have known about the arrival though, as his pet snake was nowhere to be seen.

The boy was of average height, with flaming red hair. He was thin, with blue eyes and a face spotted with freckles.

"Oh, hi. Are you Harry Potter by any chance? I heard he would be on this train…" His face lit up upon realizing that this wasn't another empty compartment.

A flash of something – maybe annoyance – in Harry's eyes immediately gave way to their usual guarded expression, giving nothing away as he replied, "You heard correctly. And you would be?"

"Ron Weasley," offering his hand, "it's my first year going to Hogwarts. Same for you, right?"

"Well, come in Ron." Harry brought a smile to his face. The Weasley's were not an unknown name in the Wizarding world, and while that didn't say much given how small and closely knit the pureblood population of Wizarding Britain actually was, it never hurt to get to know someone who would one day hold some sort of influence in the world.

' _That's pretty uncharacteristic of him…' Hermione thought. 'He usually just pushes everyone away, preferring to study in solitude.'_

As the boy entered into the compartment, a silly grin of accomplishment plastered onto his face, Harry's thoughts were centered on the potential benefits that an alliance with a naive and gullible scion of a pureblood house could possibly reap. But one issue remained.

"Umm, Ron. How did you know I would be sitting on the train today?"

"Well, you see, my family is really close to Dumbledore, so I think he might'a mentioned it to my mum. I heard her discussing it with Dad." The boy sounded real smug about that, the kind of smug when you tell someone you know a very famous celebrity. "A real shock to hear about you. Especially after everybody thought you were dead. Where were you anyway? The Prophet said you were missing, and probably dead."

"Here and there. Besides, on what grounds did they claim I was missing?" He had a feeling he knew where this conversation was leading to.

"Well, nobody knew where you were anymore, and even Dumbledore couldn't find you. When you didn't show up for over two months, they had no choice but to declare you dead."

"So you're saying that you knew where I was before that?"

"Well, nobody actually knew where you were, but Dumbledore said you were safe, with your relatives. So everybody breathed easy knowing you were protected." He turned his face to look out of the window, leaving Harry to his thoughts.

It couldn't be any plainer than that. Dumbledore had placed him with the Dursleys, he had made sure no one else knew where he was, and when he disappeared, he had probably tracked him down to the Smith family – it wasn't hard to make the connection, it was on record after all – but lost him when he had disposed of them to live alone in a place that held no connection to his adoptive family.

He would have to be wary of Dumbledore it would seem. He had heard no small amount of opinions about the 'great wizard' that was Albus Dumbledore, ranging from being the only one the Dark Lord ever feared, a genius when it came to the magical sciences, to a kind old grandfatherly figure and even chronically insane. Whatever he was, Harry was pretty sure he was immensely powerful in the political arena, and - if rumors were to be believed – in terms of magical prowess as well. And he didn't seem to have Harry's best interests at heart, unless dropping him off at the residence of a muggle family who hated magic with all their heart qualified as his best interests.

He wanted to push for more concerning the aged wizard, but Ron seemed to be deeply interested in something else, his eager gaze focused on Harry's face, or rather somewhere about his face. Despite the fact that he was still sitting next to Hermione – though he had yet to spare a glance in her direction or even offer an introduction, or merely a salutation – Harry knew that on the inside, he was bouncing on his toes. He had seen that expression before. Oh boy…

"Have you really got – you know - "

He pointed at Harry's forehead.

An annoyed look flashed across Harry's features as he lifted his cap to reveal the legendary lightning bolt scar on his forehead, then quickly placed it back on his head. People would know soon enough anyway. He preferred if he could spend the remainder of the train ride _without_ the ogling and out of the spotlight, thank you very much. Thank goodness no other nosy brats had barged into their compartment.

Ron stared, breaking away when the object of his gaze vanished once more beneath the cap.

"So that's where You-Know-Who…"

"Yes…"

"Do you remember anything?"

' _Seriously….? You don't just walk up to someone you just met and ask them whether they remember when their parents were killed!'_

Hermione, who had been listening to the entire conversation from behind the cover of her book had quite similar thoughts on the matter. _'How insensitive can you get?'_

"Nope. Just a lot of green light is all." _'Not a very subtle one are you?'_

"Wow," said Ron. He sat and stared at Harry for a few moments, then, as though he had suddenly realized what he was doing, he looked quickly out of the window again.

How to approach this one… He had close relations with Dumbledore, was a pureblood, probably heir to his line or something… And insensitive, that too.

While Harry sat there mulling it over, the doors burst open as a pair of identically freckled, red-headed clones strode into the compartment, their sights set upon Ron. Though the boys were older than him, Harry could see the obvious resemblance between them and Ron. Cousins maybe, or possibly even brothers.

"Ah, Ickle-Ronniekins - ," One of them started.

"There you are!" Completed the other.

" We've been searching the entire train for you."

"Thought you might not have - "

"Boarded the train - "

"in time." They completed in unison. Alright, so that was weird.

"Pretty likely too, I must say."

"Right you are, dear brother of mine." The duo were each sporting matching set of grins on their faces as they put the boy into the limelight, which Ron didn't appear to be taking too well.

Ron's face was turning red in embarrassment. The twins – or so it seemed – didn't fail to catch up on this development, and as evidenced by their mischievous facial expressions, they would make sure to capitalize on it.

"Little Ronniekins has made new friends!"

"Won't our cute little brother introduce them to us?"

Ron's complexion grew ever darker, as the crimson blush spread to the far corners of his face. (Yes, faces don't have corners. I know that.)

"He's Harry Potter!" Ron finally blurted out. "You can ask him if you don't believe me!"

"Oh, really."

"Fascinating."

"And his lady friend?"

"Huh?" Came the inarticulate reply.

"Wow, an hour into the journey, and our baby brother failed to even procure the name of his companions."

"Typical."

"She's not important. More importantly, I'm friends with Harry Potter now. Besides, she looks like a nerd anyway."

Had this been a year ago, Hermione would have been left in a sorry state. But now, having gained a newfound sense of confidence and self-worth, she felt more annoyed at the audacity of that idiotic redhead.

' _Tactless…'_

"Harry Potter, eh?"

"Aiming for the big shots already, huh?"

"I wonder how long you had to beg before he allowed you into his compartment."

"You didn't offer up our house to him in exchange did you?"

"Nah, it isn't worth enough for a celebrity like Harry here to tolerate spending time with ickle Ronniekins."

"You're right, brother of mine."

"He probably offered to be his slave for the next seven years."

"That's right. I mean, even superheroes always need their very own sidekick for the story to continue."

"And, homework completer too."

"Yeah. Don't forget the pawn either."

"Yeah, celebrity's always have their very own sacrificial piece."

"Yup." The two nodded to each other, passing quick triumphant glances.

Meanwhile, whatever sorry excuse for a composure Ron had possessed during his earlier outburst suddenly broke down, and he leapt to his feet. Pulling his fist back, Ron flew at his brothers, launching forth his tightly clenched punch.

One of the two twins – it was hard to tell which – swished his wand which had magically (yes, magically) appeared in his hand, with a cry of, "Impedimenta!"

Ron's momentum plummeted to zero, as he came to an abrupt stop, tipping over as he fell flat on his face, smashing his nose into the floor.

"Ronniekins,"

"You don't attack your brothers - "

"Unless you have at least ten more of your friends at your back."

"That too when you're sure you could overpower us - "

"Before we draw our wands."

"Or take us by surprise…"

"Or at the very least have learnt a single spell…"

By then, Ron had gotten back up to his feet. But from his face, anyone could see that he was at the edge of hysteria. Blood streaked his nose, which might very well have been broken. More importantly, he was bloodied in shame and his pride (whatever pitiful amount he believed himself to possess) had been buried. He had been disgraced in front of Harry Potter, and probably severed any chances of making fast friends with him. And he was doing so well before too. (Ya, right!)

He bolted from the room.

The twins suddenly broke out laughing. Seeing Harry's lips curving upwards into a smile, they gave each other a nod, for a job well done. Boy was it easy to tease Ron. You merely had to push those same buttons, and bingo.

"Fred Weasley."

"And I'm his twin, George."

"Pleasure to meet you." Fred extended his hand for a shake. Harry took it.

"And what might be your name, dear my lady?"

"Hermione, Hermione Granger."

"Ronniekins better watch out for this one, she does seem like the intelligent sort. She must be pretty exceptional if Harry Potter chose her as his companion."

The two twins continued to smirk at each other. Several seconds later revealed why, as a pair of angry footfalls retreating from the doorway made plain that Ron had still been listening.

"Well met, Harry, Hermione. You two sound like entertaining company."

"Anyway, at least now you know who you want to contact - "

"If you're interested in playing a prank on someone,"

"Or asking for advice for your very own pranks."

"Of course,"

"If you want, you could volunteer as a willing test subject for our very own inventions,"

"And if you're lucky, you could even get a position as a research assistant."

"Well, gotta run for now. See you later."

And with that, the two troublemakers were off.

"Finally some peace and quiet, wouldn't you agree, Harry?"

"Yes. You can cross Ron off of the list of possible allies I know you probably have under your book somewhere." He started counting off his salient features on his fingers one by one.

"Lack of tact, speaks too much, insensitive, not even the eldest or only son, not the heir to the Weasley name, nor does he seem to be too wealthy, if his oversized clothes seem to be any indication. In other words, the most useless pureblood ever."

"Agreed."

The two continued to sit there in silence, enjoying the reading material they each had at their disposal.

"And to be frank, he's a plant. I scanned his mind for any thoughts pertaining to the situation at hand. Dumbledore and his mother both asked him to make friends with Harry Potter, and find out where he had been hiding. He was also supposed to lead me down the path of the light by instilling within me, an affiliation for all that is Gryffindor - rash, bold, loud, stupid – that's the Harry Potter he wanted."

"Oh, that's terrible. I never imagined that Professor Dumbledore would be like that. There must be some sort of misunderstanding."

"Yes, I know your sentiments regarding the topic, despite my constant warnings that most if not almost all influential figures in the world, both muggle and magical are corrupt, and if we ever want to contribute to society, these figures of authority would have to be displaced."

"This can't possibly be the general rule. Authority figures are there for a reason. It's their job to make sure that there is no corruption. Surely, there must be some check and balance in place for the system to work." Her voice grew louder as her highly opinionated point of view came out to play its part in the conversation.

"Oh really? How many corrupt authoritarian figures have I pointed out to you _now_?"

Her voice grew meek as she replied, "Thirty seven."

" _And…,_ what do the statistics show about your standpoint?"

"Ok, I get the point."

An hour had passed by the time the red-head came back, ready to start making impressions once more. He really wanted to please his mother and come out from under his brothers' shadow. Minutes earlier, a boy called Neville had come searching for a toad, and Hermione had decided to help him out. Of course, what Neville didn't know was that Hermione could have simply used the summoning charm, which she had been practicing lately to call it to them, but then again, they _had_ decided to keep their progress somewhat a secret.

Turning to the only other occupant of the compartment, he began.

"I see that living with two elder brothers can turn out to be quite a hassle sometimes." Despite acting like nothing had happened, on the inside, Harry was thinking of ways to get rid of the pathetic boy Dumbledore had employed to spy on him, without seeming to be anything but the image of charisma and perfection that he would be presenting

"Five," said Ron. For some reason, he was looking gloomy. "I'm the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I've got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left - Bill was head boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy's a prefect. Fred and George, well, they can be really mean, even cruel, and they mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they're really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it's no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five brothers. I've got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand, and Percy's old rat."

Ron reached inside his jacket and pulled out a fat gray rat, which was asleep.

"His name's Scabbers and he's useless, he hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from my dad for being made a prefect, but they couldn't aff - I mean, I got Scabbers instead."

Ron's ears went pink. He seemed to think he'd said too much, because he went back to staring out of the window.

' _Right, too poor to afford an owl. And he's the most useless of the lot besides. Just my luck."_

Just then, Harry's musings were cut short as the compartment door was pushed open by a young blond boy their age. His expensive looking robes and aristocratic features immediately drew Harry's complete attention. He was flanked on both sides by tall and muscular kids that stood as if they were his guards.

"I heard Harry Potter was sitting in this compartment. Would you happen to be him?" He asked, pointing to Harry.

Before Harry could respond, his idiotic headache of a redhead jumped in.

"And what if he is? What is it to you, Malfoy?" A satisfied smirk appeared on Ron's features on successfully recognizing the Malfoy scion despite having never met him before. But then again, no surprises there. The resemblance to the photograph of Lord Malfoy that perpetually appeared on the Daily Prophet was more than sufficient of an indication.

"Hmm, horrendous manners, second hand clothes that look like they haven't seen a washing since they were bought, and flaming red hair. You must be a Weasley. How come you aren't with the rest of the brood?"

Leaving Ron seething, he turned to Harry, extending his hand.

"I'm Draco Malfoy. Pleased to meet you. Would you mind if we sat here?"

"Not at all, please make yourself at home."

The three boys each took a seat, Draco in front of Harry, while his minions sat across from Ron, who looked like he would burst any second now.

Despite his relaxed demeanor, on the inside, Harry was doing a little victory dance.

' _About time someone useful showed at the rate things are going, the Weasley will probably be gone before we can say 'idiot'. Not to mention, he's a Malfoy, and I know for sure that his father holds a massive amount of influence in the political arena. Just the perfect guy we need.'_

The new arrivals had barely introduced themselves when the door opened once more, revealing a smiling Hermione entering the compartment. She looked slightly confused upon seeing the increased number of people occupying the place, but then shook it off as she took a seat right next to Harry.

"Ah, Hermione! This is Draco Malfoy. And beside him are Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle."

"Oh hello. I'm Hermione Granger."

An eyebrow rose as Draco strained his head for a pureblood family by the name of Granger. None came to mind.

"Granger, that's not the name of any pureblood family I know of. You're a mudblood aren't you?

 **And Cut.**

 **AN:**

 **Right, so the bits and pieces of humor weren't planned, nor had I intended to add those fillerish parts, but well, whenever Gred and Forge enter the scene, there's no stopping the madness that ensues. And then of course, they're also the best people to bash Ron without having to resort to making Harry out of character by provoking Ron without due cause, despite the fact that he was searching for allies to begin with.**

 **I had intended to wrap up the sorting in this chapter, but things happened, and I wouldn't be able to write tomorrow, so I decided to just cut it here and give you guys a chapter, with a promise of another update soon.**

 **With this chapter, Shadow Mage breaks twenty thousand words! Woohoo! I don't know about you guys, but I'm certainly getting excited about this story, and the direction it's taking.**

 **Sorry for being late in updating. I was busy with exams, so I couldn't write sooner.**

 **Also, for those of you who are in charge of communities… If you like this story, please add it to your community archives.**

 **In case anyone wasn't able to determine the timeline (you should seriously be rereading the actual books), Harry has just turned eleven and is off to Hogwarts. He received his letter several weeks back, and I didn't deem his shopping trip worth another chapter. This is to make up for my slow start in** _ **Vengeful Sage,**_ **as reported by several readers, and something I myself have come to realize. Maybe the details will be revealed in flashbacks to come.**

 **I'm trying to do justice to both my stories though, so my next update will probably be for my Naruto story -** _ **Vengeful Sage! -**_ **don't forget to check it out.**

 **Try to leave review on your way out. Thanks.**

 **I'm out.**


	6. Chapter 6: Quest for Allies, Part 2

**Shadow Mage**

Chapter 6: Quest for Allies, Part 2

 **AN** : **I'm horribly sorry about the mess up last time I posted this chapter. I was so sleepy, I had no idea what was going on. Fell asleep four times while I was finishing it up. I still don't know how it happened, and no, it was not 's fault. Anyway, I've reposted it now, without the errors, I hope. If you've read this chapter already, you may want to skip to the end, where it is now much clearer, and I've added a couple lines, and I'd love it if you guys could put in some input regarding it. Anyways, thanks to everyone who pointed out my mistake.**

 **Disclaimer: I own what I own, nothing else. If anything in this chapter seems remotely similar to something you've read before, I probably didn't come up with it, nor do I claim to have done so, so don't waste your time and my own trying to sue me for it. Thanks. Regards, lamejoke911.**

 **Warning: Large Portions of this chapter have been either copied or adapted from HP1.**

 **Last time:**

 _An eyebrow rose as Draco strained his head for a pureblood family by the name of Granger. None came to mind._

" _Granger, that's not the name of any pureblood family I know of. You're a mudblood aren't you?_

Harry had to say he was mighty impressed when Hermione managed to contain the gasp that he was sure would be coming. She had an intense aversion to the pureblood supremacist dogma, and hated its proponents with a passion like nothing else. So it came as a surprise when she immediately schooled her features into that indifferent sort of look that she had now donned.

Harry allowed an arrogant smile to grace his face. "That's a pretty dangerous game you're playing there, Draco." He pointed out.

He waited for the astonished look to phase into existence as Draco processed what he was hearing.

"To judge and insult someone based only on the basis of their supposed ancestry; it's quite shallow indeed. Your opponents could just as easily turn back the same argument against you."

Shocked that anyone could possibly suggest that his own origins were less than perfect, he replied, "I'll have you know that the Malfoys are a Noble Pureblood family that runs back to seventeenth century France. There isn't a single drop of non-magical blood in the line."

The boy's visage morphed into a proud smirk as he boasted of his impressive lineage.

"Of course, you oh so conveniently omitted the fact that Lord Malfoy the first, whose praises you're singing and who is the reason your family is where it is now was himself a muggleborn, or rather, as you would prefer, a _mudblood_." Harry's superior smirk grew even wider.

"That's not true, merely lies and propaganda meant to sully the reputation of our house by those who would see it gone!"

"Get real, Malfoy. It's in all the history books, obvious to any that would spare the effort to search for it. Why don't you take a look in _Influential Houses of the Twentieth Century_? I'm sure that the author will be _pureblood_ enough for your satisfaction."

"Such a line of powerful and influential wizards couldn't have just been descended from a muggleborn!" Draco was almost hysterical.

Hermione couldn't hold it anymore. Her face split open in a satisfied smirk; knowing that one of the most intensely bigoted children that could have entered their compartment had been put in his place.

And if she knew Harry as well as she did, he wasn't done yet.

"Of course, one could just as easily point out that most _purebloods_ of today are no more than a set of inbred individuals, dying out gradually from one generation to the next. A third of most pureblood children turn out as squibs, but those whose entire sphere of influence gravitates around the fact that they've been inbreeding since antiquity wouldn't want you to know that, now would they?"

The young Malfoy heir was about to burst out in an angry retort when Harry held up his hand, signifying that there was more.

"In the Wizarding World, the only thing that truly matters, after glossing over the sense of false accomplishment that being happy about things of which had no part in, is your own capabilities as a Wizard. I'm absolutely positive that Hermione here can outdo pretty much every other first year on this train, despite being a Muggleborn."

"No way. I'll prove it to you. In a duel. When we reach Hogwarts, I'll put her in her place, and I'll show you that a mudblood can't possibly compete with someone whose very veins have been inundated with magic since the day they were born. Then, you'll know who's the more worthy company."

' _Oh yes. Time to shine, girl.'_ Hermione's eyes sparkled as she thought of how she would enjoy seeing the look on Malfoy's face when he would lie spread eagled on the cold stone floor, with her wand looming ever closer to his face.

"Done."

"Come on Crabbe, Goyle. We're leaving." The three boys stood up, making for the exit in single file.

"I hope, Draco, that next time we meet, your ideals will have changed radically. Maybe then, we could even be friends…" Harry called out as the three left. Harry sighed, relieved at the miracle of a crisis timely averted.

"That first meeting actually went much smoother than I had hoped."

"Malfoy had no idea what to say when it was actually _his_ lineage that was being called into question." Hermione retorted. "Probably the first time _that_ ever happened."

"And I have a hunch he'll be back for more soon enough."

"Of course, he had already forfeited his ideals the moment he proposed that we settle it with a duel. The very notion that you had to convince your opposition through violence implied that your stance really wasn't strong enough to persuade them through logic and reason, or based on scientific empirical evidence," she continued.

"In contrast, it may very well be that Draco had the finest of intentions when proposing the duel," Harry defended. "If he has hypothesized that those _pure_ of blood are better wizards than – or witches of course - than those who aren't, then he is perfectly within his rights to call for an experiment to test the veracity of his claims…."

"I don't think that had anything to do with it. Else, he would have randomly chosen a muggleborn and matched him or her up with a randomly chosen pureblood. The very fact that he challenged _me_ _himself_ shows that it had nothing to do with free inquiry and everything to do with the pride of House Malfoy." The victorious gleam in her eyes intimated that the ruse was up, there would be no defending a bigot in her presence.

"And you couldn't have allowed me to act as the Devil's Advocate any longer?" No, Harry Potter did not whine. He was merely expressing his disapproval of the girl's dismissal of his argument. Yeah, that was it.

She broke out in laughter as she elbowed Harry in the ribs, unable to maintain that stern visage of annoyance any longer.

All the while, Ron Weasley had been watching the proceedings, uncharacteristically quiet. It seemed that his own sense of self worth had fallen from zero to the negatives after the brushing down Malfoy had given him. It didn't hurt that everything said had actually been true. All of this had turned Ron from the rash and loud boy he was at the beginning of the train ride, to the meek boy he had been since the boys arrived.

It was only now, when Malfoy had been ousted, gathering whatever ounce of pride he still had that Ron opened up once more. Besides, he couldn't bear how those two were so chummy, talking about that muggle stuff his dad would be singing praises about, Sigh-ence or something like that. It just enraged him that _the Harry Potter_ would rather sit with a _mudblood_ wench talking about muggle stuff that sounded like it came right out of a textbook. It should have been him chatting up the Boy-Who-Lived, talking about fun stuff like Quidditch, or his family, and being friends and all.

"Serves him right, that slimy git!" He exclaimed, breaking the silence.

' _Oh boy, he's still here?'_

' _Out of the frying pan, into the fire.'_

The two exchanged glances with each other, then remained silent. They would test and see how long it would take to get the red-head to leave them to their devices.

"Come on, guys, stop studying for once. You've been doing that all through the train ride. It's almost at an end. Aren't you guys excited about going to Hogwarts?"

"Of course, Ron. That's why we're studying, to make sure we're not at a disadvantage when we're up against people who have lived their entire lives in the magical world, and who have been introduced to magic from a much younger age." Harry replied, matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, I guess. I learned this spell from Fred and George before coming today. Wanna see it?"

"Sure, let's see it." Hermione finally joined in to the conversation, a skeptical look on her face.

"Scabbers!" Ron looked around, in search of his rat, until his gaze zeroed in on its form.

The rat was still snoozing on Ron's lap.

"He might have died and you wouldn't know the difference," said Ron in disgust. "I tried to turn him yellow yesterday to make him more interesting, but the spell didn't work. I'll show you, look..."

He rummaged around in his trunk and pulled out a very battered-looking wand. It was chipped in places and something white was glinting at the end.

"Unicorn hair's nearly poking out. Anyway…"He raised his 'wand', cleared his throat and then, nervously intoned, "Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."

He waved his wand, but nothing happened. Scabbers stayed gray and fast asleep.

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" said Hermione, her voice the perfect tone of condescension.

"It's not in any of the first year books," she continued. "Are you sure you didn't just make that up on the spot?"

"I did not! I just need some more practice with it," Ron defended.

"Well anyway, you two had better get changed, we're almost there." With that, Hermione left the compartment to get changed herself.

"Whatever house I'm in, I hope she's not in it," said Ron. He threw his wand back into his trunk. "Stupid spell - George gave it to me, bet he knew it was a dud."

"What house are your brothers in?" asked Harry.

"Gryffindor," said Ron. Gloom seemed to be settling on him again. "Mom and Dad were in it, too. I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I don't suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin."

"What's wrong with being sorted into Slytherin? Is it bad?" said Harry, as he began to test the waters once more. He was already on the verge of completely disregarding the youngest Weasley as a possible ally in the coming years. He was just waiting for one last indication of his inaptitude.

"Bad, you say! It's horrible! That house is where all the darkest and most evil wizards go! Even if I survived in there, my family would kill me if I got sorted there!" Ron exclaimed. He flopped back into his seat, looking depressed.

' _Ugh, completely useless.'_

"You know, I think the ends of Scabbers' whiskers are a bit lighter," said Ron, trying to take his mind off houses.

"So what do your oldest brothers do now that they've left, anyway?" Harry asked.

The entire family couldn't be useless, now could they?

"Charlie's in Romania studying dragons, and Bill's in Africa doing something for Gringotts," said Ron.

' _Ah! Saving grace… It seems I might not have wasted the entire train ride with this idiot…'_

"Did you hear about Gringotts? It's been all over the Daily Prophet, but I don't suppose you get that with the Muggles - someone tried to rob a high security vault."

"Really? What happened to them?"

"Nothing, that's why it's such big news. They haven't been caught. My dad says it must've been a powerful Dark wizard to get round Gringotts, but they don't think they took anything, that's what's odd. 'Course, everyone gets scared when something like this happens in case You-Know-Who's behind it."

Harry turned this news over in his mind. It was starting to get annoying every time 'You- Know-Who' was mentioned. He didn't understand how pronouncing the name of a vanquished self-styled dark lord was so horrifying an experience.

"What's your Quidditch team?" Ron asked.

' _OK, so that was random…'_

"I don't exactly follow Quidditch, you know."

"Oh," Ron seemed quite let down by the fact.

Harry was appalled. A pureblood scion who was more interested in following a bunch of wizards chasing flying balls than the fact that he was going to Hogwarts while incapable of performing a single spell. What _had_ the world gotten to?

Just then, a loud – probably magically amplified – voice reverberated through the compartment, announcing that they would be arriving in under ten minutes, and that they were to change and pack up their belongings, while leaving their trunks in the train.

"Well, we'd better get changed. See you later then." _'And good riddance too.'_

Once they had gotten ready, joined the crowd thronging the corridor. The redhead wore a look of extreme nervousness as he proceeded, as opposed to the ever stoic Harry.

The train slowed right down and finally stopped. People pushed their way toward the door and out on to a tiny, dark platform. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and Harry heard a familiar voice: "Firs' years! Firs' years over here!"

A giant hairy face beamed over the sea of heads.

"C'mon, follow me - any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"

Slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Harry thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much. Neville, the boy who kept losing his toad, sniffed once or twice.

"Ye' all get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

There was a loud "Oooooh!"

The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Harry and Ron were followed into their boat by Neville and Hermione. "Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. "Right then - FORWARD!"

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbor, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

"Oy, you there! Is this your toad?" said the giant man, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them.

"Trevor!" cried Neville blissfully, holding out his hands. Then they clambered up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.

They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, Oak front door.

"Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?"

Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Harry's first thought was that this was someone to be wary of. She seemed like someone who could and would make sure that everything at Hogwarts was as perfect as she envisioned it to be.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said the giant, who if he heard correctly, was called Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was so big you could have fit the house in it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Harry could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right -the rest of the school must already be here - but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rulebreaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on Ron's smudged nose.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

She left the chamber. Ron swallowed.

"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" he asked Ron.

"Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking."

Harry almost couldn't believe it. A test? Seriously? What test could this set of dunderheads possibly hope to pass? He looked around at the anxious faces of his neighbors, and saw that everyone else looked terrified, too. No one was talking much except Hermione, who was whispering very fast about all the spells she'd learned and wondering which one she'd need. And what an actor that girl was. Fitting into the role of innocent girl genius perfectly. Harry though, was perfectly calm and poised. Had he been the same Harry that had lived repressed under the strict regime of the Drsleys, he would have been just like everyone else, or rather, much worse. He wasn't though. Now, he was a completely different entity to the one that had shivered in fear when he'd had to take a school report home to the Dursleys saying that he'd somehow turned his teacher's wig blue. He kept his eyes fixed on the door. Any second now, Professor McGonagall would come back and lead them to the sorting.

Then something happened that made him start, immediately pulling out his Holly and Phoenix feather wand,a spell on his lips - several people behind him screamed.

"What the -?"

He gasped. So did the people around him. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying: "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance -"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost - I say, what are you all doing here?"

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years.

Nobody answered.

"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"

A few people nodded mutely.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you know."

"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."

Feeling oddly as though his legs had turned to lead, Harry got into line behind a boy with sandy hair, with Ron behind him, and they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

Harry had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghost shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Harry looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. He heard:

Hermione whisper, "Its bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History."

It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply open on to the heavens.

Harry quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Aunt Petunia wouldn't have let it in the house.

"Maybe we have to try and get a rabbit out of it," a boy whispered. He thought his name was Finnigan,or something. Harry thought wildly, that seemed the sort of thing - noticing that everyone in the hall was now staring at the hat, he stared at it, too. This was it, and despite not looking the part, he was actually bursting with excitement. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth - and the hat began to sing:

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffis are true And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

if you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

Meanwhile, both Harry and Hermione were lost in the same thoughts.

' _Was that itself sentient, or….?'_

' _Or was it animated to speak as it did?'_

' _Does it have a soul?'_

' _Or is it robotic in nature?'_

' _Is the song the same every year?'_

' _How does it decide where to put the students?'_

' _I wonder how they programmed/ animated it?'_

' _Machine learning, maybe?'_

Their musings were cut short as the Weasley boy made his way to the pair, seething in what he couldn't tell was true or mock anger.

"So we've just got to try on the hat!" Ron whispered to Harry. "I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll."

And with that, the sorting had begun.

 **And Cut.**

 **AN:**

 **Right, so there was a mistake in calculation. It's actually this chapter where Shadow Mage crosses over into the 20k+ range.**

 **If you want to put in your piece concerning this last part, about the truth behind the hat, please do. I want to see what you guys actually think, so I can make up my mind about what will be the story's take on the issue. By the way, hopefully, the story will move faster now that we're entering familiar territory, and I'll try not repeat stuff you guys have already read a gazillion times by now.**

 **And I have no excuse for being so late other than that Ping Pong (Tale Tennis) has become an integral part of my life, and I've been devoting my writing hours to it. Don't get disheartened though, my stories aren't abandoned till I say they are.**

 **Also, for those of you who are in charge of communities… If you like this story, please add it to your community archives.**

 **I'm trying to do justice to both my stories though, so my next update will probably be for my Naruto story -** _ **Vengeful Sage! -**_ **don't forget to check it out.**

 **Try to leave review on your way out. Thanks.**

 **I'm out.**


	7. Chapter 7: Quest for Allies: Part 3

**Shadow Mage**

Chapter 7: Quest for Allies, Part 3

 **Disclaimer: I own what I own, nothing else. If anything in this chapter seems remotely similar to something you've read before, I probably didn't come up with it, nor do I claim to have done so, so don't waste your time and my own trying to sue me for it. Thanks. Regards, lamejoke911.**

 **A/N:**

 **For those of you didn't get the sorting they wanted, well, I hope you aren't disappointed too much by the way I chose to do it. It was a hard decision for me as well, you know. Anyway, on with the story.**

Time flew past in a blur as one by one, each student was called up to the front, where the worn old hat decided the fate of the intimidated first years. Before he knew it, it was Hermione's turn. As the girl he'd known for well over two years took her place on the stool, he could almost already hear the confident shout of 'Ravenclaw!' echoing through his ears far before she had placed the hat on her head. The hat didn't disappoint.

Not long after, it was his turn. "Potter, Harry!"

For a moment, the entire hall was blanketed in pin drop silence at the mention of his name; the name of the legendary savior of Wizarding Britain – the name of a young boy long thought to be dead. As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out in a cacophony of excited voices spread out through the hall. Harry Potter though, paid no heed to any of that as he advanced, deep in thought.

"Potter, did she say?"

"The Harry Potter?"

"Good Gracious! He's actually alive!"

As he slowly trudged up to the stool, he knew where he must go. Despite his very honest thirst for knowledge and his drive to learn all facets of magic, both the obscure and the mundane, as well as his surprisingly sentimental longing for the intellectual companionship that Hermione's continued presence would provide, each of which would have earned him a one way ticket into the house of the intelligent and studious, his greater goals denied him such indulgences.

He walked on, knowing that he would have to tread the finest line between detesting the pureblood supremacist agenda, and making enemies of its greatest supporters; between holding the self-acclaimed light side in well-deserved disdain, and succumbing to their critical gaze of scrutiny. It was no easy task he had set up for himself, but one well befitting of his station and abilities. Any less would have been a joke. An insult to his genius; to both the strength of his mind and his magic.

It was not long before he too had placed the centuries old hat upon his head, both in anticipation of learning more about this fascinating artifact - that seemed to be able to look deep into the holder's soul and judge their character- and in fear of it unearthing and divulging the deepest contents of his mind. Nevertheless, he persevered, until he heard a voice ring out in his head.

"Hmm. An inquisitive mind, a resourceful intellect. Cunning when it suits you, and bold as hell when you need it. You would do well anywhere… But you don't want to go just anywhere, do you?"

' _How is the hat doing this? Does it read my mind? Scan through my thoughts? Swim through my memories? At what rate would that even be possible?'_

"Oh, inquisitive indeed. Rowena would have loved to have you! Why, I am merely charmed to get a feel for my wearer's general character, and scan their surface thoughts."

' _Scan my surface thoughts… So what does it base its decision on? What if one's personality was entirely in contradiction to the house he / she ardently wished to go to?'_

"Then I would grant him / her their wish, all the while counseling them against the decision they are prepared to take."

' _Hmm. Put me in Slytherin then. It is where I must go.'_

"You would do well in Ravenclaw, I must say. There, you would find like-minded individuals with that same appetite for knowledge as yourself. The environment wouldn't be as obnoxious as the other houses. Plus, companionship… Have you thought of that?"

' _No. I must go to Slytherin.'_

"What about Gryffindor? You will be in the company of some of most spirited wizards and witches in Britain. True fighters for a cause. They are just sitting around waiting for a sufficiently charismatic individual to lead them around like sheep. You would have no problems getting them motivated for whatever cause you want to start."

' _I've said it once, I'm saying it again. Put me in Slytherin. For my plans to work, that is where I must begin.'_

"Well, if you're sure – better be SLYTHERIN!"

The assortment of murmurs instantaneously quieted down at the proclamation, leaving a hall filled with bewildered onlookers. To their credit, they had a right to be. First, the world famous scion of the light, vanquisher of the greatest dark lord of the century, the Messiah of hundreds of Wizards and Witches throughout the country – a person long assumed to be dead, had shown up at Hogwarts without any semblance of a warning..

To over three quarters of the student population, he had been dead till a couple minutes ago. To the remaining student body, they had merely heard whispers. Rumors that the Boy-Who-Lived truly _had_ lived. It was only the staff that had known with certainty that Harry Potter would be coming to Hogwarts.

Even had that not been the case though, the very concept of a legendary figure of the light - a perceived reincarnation of Merlin himself, a half-blood to boot – being sorted into the house of the snakes, a house that should have – in the minds of many – been reserved for the foulest of the foul, the most rotten and evil of the bunch was nigh unbelievable. It was staggering how such a person could have been sorted into such a place.

And with that, a thunderous racket erupted in the hall.

"I knew the hat had gone senile!"

"Well obviously. After its centuries of monotonous existence, what else did you expect?"

"Did they check the expiry date?"

"That slimy old snake!"

"I knew I felt something off about him in the train!"

"How do we know we've been sorted correctly?"

"I demand a resorting!"

"Of course, he was dark enough to off You-Know-Who when he was just a baby!"

"How come you put me in Hufflepuff, you stupid hat!"

"Where else would he go?"

"Maybe going to Slytherin isn't all that bad after all?"

Out of this cacophonous outbreak of remarks, Harry made sure to file away the last one.

' _Bones – I think her name was. She just needs a slight nudge in the right direction, and everything else will move along swimmingly.'_

Approaching the Slytherin table where he was expected to sit, Harry found an empty spot and settled himself down. It wasn't long before the sorting came to an end, and he found himself seated between two first years like himself. On his left was a dark skinned boy with long slanted eyes, and the spot to his left was occupied by a blonde girl, whose face was schooled into an aristocratic look of indifference to everything around her.

"Looks like the hat was smart enough to show you the best place to be…"

He could recognize that cocky voice anywhere. Directly across from him sat Draco Malfoy, the boy he had met on the train. He was obnoxiously pompous right now, but Harry could say without doubt that by the time they would graduate, his family name alone would have garnered enough clout that befriending him now would be totally worth it.

"Not smart enough to put Weasley where _he_ should be, I'm afraid." He retorted, a mischievous grin set on his face.

A fit of uncontrolled laughter broke out along the table, the bodyguards that seemed to perpetually flank Malfoy joining in. Of course, the said boy, who was seated towards the end of the table, barely realized that he was being made the object of everyone's amusement.

Speaking of which, that too was a wonder in and of itself. For a Weasley - who were Dumbledore's minions through and through, associated with the 'light' for decades, and allergic to any and everything 'dark' like the plague – being sorted into Slytherin was an anomaly. More than that though, it was a no-no. How their youngest son managed to land _that_ achievement was anyone's guess. Just an hour ago, he was spouting a load of nonsense about slimy snakes and how only the darkest wizards ever go to Slytherin. So much for _that_ idea. A Weasley couldn't utter a dark spell to save their life.

It was about then that the _'esteemed headmaster'_ – lord of the light, greatest wizard of the century, and a dozen other titles - Albus Dumbledore, got to his feet, his arms opened wide in a welcoming gesture. On the outside, he seemed genuinely pleased to see so many bright new additions to the school's student body, but on a second, deeper look, one could see he was perturbed. His eyes, which had been twinkling since the students had first set foot on his soil, had lost that twinkle. And why shouldn't he be worried. Harry Potter's impromptu appearance had shaken up years of consolidated planning. Nevertheless, now wasn't the time to be dwelling over such thoughts. He had appearances to keep up after all.

"Welcome," he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

"Thank you!"

He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Harry didn't know whether to laugh or puke.

"Is he - raving mad?" he asked an elder girl across from him on the left.

"Mad?" the girl scoffed. "He's supposedly a genius. Best wizard in the world, they say! But he is quite mad, yes."

Before he could think of a reply, every person's attention was attracted to the dishes that lay before them, now full to the brim with delectables.

"At least the food here is sufficiently adequate…" came the scheduled snarky comment from across from him.

' _Ok, so that's an understatement.'_

The dishes in front of him were now piled with food. Seldom had he come across such a variety of delicious food items before on a single table (surely not at the Dursley's place, and after that, he was never really into spending a fortune on just luxurious dining – a fortune that he did have, mind you): roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.

Slowly filing up his own plate with some of the eatables, Harry took this time to cast a look across the Great Hall. The students were chatting with each other, probably catching up with old friends after a whole summer apart, while the members of staff were busy discussing God-knows-what amongst themselves.

But if he looked closely enough, he could see the stares. He knew that his sorting into Slytherin would raise up a storm, but still, he had no idea that it would be at such a large scale. Students from each of the four houses were glancing his way, making no visible effort to conceal their displeasure at where he went.

Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, who had spent most of their conscious lives in constant suspicion of the name Slytherin, and anything associated with it, immediately jumped to the conclusion that he was dark on the basis of the sorting. Of course, their fears were mostly not as unwarranted as some of the more optimistic supporters of inter-house relations and co-existence may wish to portray.

Slytherins - on the other hand - did nothing to dispel the sweeping stereotype. Most didn't really give a damn either way about what the _'stupid 'puffs' thought anyway._ A large number of them were children of either outright Death Eaters, or more commonly, closet supporters of the Dark Lord's dogma. As a result, they resented the Boy-Who-Lived for having a part in dethroning their allegedly invincible leader and casting their parents back down from their hard-earned positions of prominence among his ranks.

Of course, not all Slytherins were of that type. Many saw Harry Potter's presence in Slytherin House as a once in a lifetime opportunity, to gain favor with him, and ascend up the ladder of power using the fame and influence his name would command as a stepping stone. There were others, of course, that were completely indifferent. Like the two first years that sat to his right and left. They neither looked at him in disdain, nor could Harry see them trying to gain his attention like the Malfoy heir was. They merely kept to themselves. He filed that away for later.

Sending another appraising look down the hall, he realized that it was the Ravenclaws that seemed to be the least bothered with where he was placed. The number of glares directed at him from _that_ table – he could count on one hand. _'At least, that's a plus…'_

Speaking of Ravenclaw, he could see Hermione had already taken to the House like fish to water. Her food –much like his own - was practically untouched as she engaged an elder student – a prefect, if his badge was any indication – in what appeared to be an intriguing discussion about something concerning wand movements. He couldn't really make out too much of it over the racket that the Start of Term Feast entailed.

Harry's eyes wandered over to the head table, where the almost exclusively jovial mood stood out in stark contrast to the dichotomy that plagued the student body. Professor McGonagall, the stern looking witch who had announced the roll call for the sorting sat next to Dumbledore, who was laughing over some joke that apparently, only _he_ thought was funny. Hagrid, the titan like man who could have passed himself off as a giant any day, was quite inconsiderately guffawing over something a woman to his side had said, the lamb chops in his mouth making for quite an uninviting spectacle. The other so far unidentified Professors too, were conversing amicably among themselves.

Of course, there were some marked exceptions to that statement. A hook nosed man, with greasy hair and sallow skin was scowling. God knew what had him seething even before he had his first class. He continued to wonder what could have the man so visibly upset, until, rather suddenly, the man looked his way. It didn't just stop there though, as the man's eyes locked with his own, and then, he felt it.

It was similar to how he felt when he would force the minds of others to reveal their secrets, only this time, it was accompanied by pain. Where intruding into the minds of others had almost always been euphoric in nature, this time, it was entirely unpleasant. The situation, though wasn't completely alien to him though. He had read a book on this (not a strictly legal book). Harry's vision began to swim as he resisted.

' _First thing to do is break eye contact – Break eye contact.'_

 _A petite woman in her twenties stands by as a small boy struggle beneath a pile of pots and pans, heaving them over to the stove. The image blurs. The young boy cowered behind the door of his cupboard as a large man stormed into the house angrily. The scene shifts. The boy stands by as the local police swarm into the house, quietly relieved that he wouldn't have to deal with his relatives any longer._

' _Break eye contact! Now!'_

Harry's vision zoned back into reality as he collapsed into his seat, exhausted. His brow was thick with perspiration as he breathed deeply. Never had he imagined that his first day in the magical world would entail such an unanticipated intrusion into his mind. Despite knowing for quite some time that the mind sciences were a standard branch of magical theory, he had always thought that what he had was special. Something that was his alone, to the exclusion of all others, or at least all but the rare exception like himself.

He was well aware that his control over shadows was not common at all – in fact – he hadn't found a single mention of such abilities as his own in any of the literature he had come across as of yet. As a result, he had assumed that forceful intrusion into another's mind too was a salient feature of his own unique powers. How wrong he turned out to be…

"Hey! Are you alright?" the girl next to him asked. She seemed genuinely concerned about him, so he replied, "Yeah, just having quite a headache. Thanks for asking though, Miss - ". A slight pause left the inquiry floating in the air, as he looked to her for a response.

"Daphne. Daphne Greengrass. And no problem."

"Do you know who that hook nosed teacher with the greasy hair is?"

"Umm, I can't say - "

"That's Professor Snape," Malfoy butted in. "Not only is he a world renowned potions master, he's also our Head of House and my god father. So you'd better watch what you say about him. He can be your greatest ally if you gain his favor, and your worst enemy if you earn his ire."

"He sounds like quite the interesting person… I'll be looking forward to attending his classes."

Harry's attention returned to the head table, where Professor Snape had resumed his dialogue with the Professor with a turban wrapped around his head, but the potions master refused to meet eyes with him again. In fact, it was now the turban clad Professor that was looking at him (his name was Squirrel - or something - he recalled).

Harry though, had other worries. Ever since the incident, he had begun to develop a rapidly intensifying headache, which didn't look like it would abate any time soon. Just then, as the final dishes of dessert were scraped clean, Dumbledore rose once more, casting silence through the hall again as people realized the headmaster was standing.

"Ahern - just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you."

"'Fed and watered', what does he take us for, livestock?" Of course, not all students had stopped whispering when their headmaster had risen.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

"Like Hell anyone's gonna want to go there. I heard it's really freakin' dangerous." The boy named Nott whispered back.

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.

"Oh, them." An older girl, who could very well have been Nott's elder sister remarked.

"Some of the most troublesome pranksters Hogwarts has ever known. I've steer clear of those two if I were you. They specifically target Slytherins. Especially Freshies like you." She finished.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors."

"What? No magic?" Another whiny voice interrupted. This time it was another first-year. The Parkinson girl. "Why do they think we're here, to learn how to live like a muggle?"

Murmurs of agreement ran down the table.

"Stupid, Muggle loving Dumbledore!"

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch."

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Harry laughed, but he was one of the few who did.

"He's not serious?" he muttered to a Prefect sitting next to Daphne..

"Must be," said the prefect (Gemma Farley from her badge), frowning at Dumbledore. "It's odd, because he usually gives us a reason to justify why we're not allowed to go somewhere - the forest's full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that. I do think he might have told us prefects, at least."

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. Harry noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed.

It didn't take long to figure out why. The 'school song', as it was dubbed, was perhaps the single most ugly and inharmonious piece of junk ever. Everyone finished at a different time, and the Weasley twins continued on singing for just under a minute after the last of the students had quieted down.

"And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

With the headmaster's dismissal, the students rose from their seats, taking the doors leading out of the hall until only the first years were left, accompanied by the prefects.

Harry too, joined the throng of first years as they eagerly followed the prefects out of the Great Hall and down into the dungeons. As they moved further, Harry would have classed the trip as getting drearier by the minute, if not for the multitude of portraits that stalled them as they made their way by. In no time, Harry stood outside what would be his common room for the next couple of years.

 **The Headmaster's Office:**

The past several years had been one disaster after the other. The sheer amount of improvising he had had to go through in his master plan had been record-breaking. Especially for someone like himself, who liked to keep all his pawns where he could see them.

That boy though – everything had gone wrong. It had all gone as predicted in the beginning. Ever since the prophecy had been made, Albus knew that the boy would be special, and even though it was quite possible that the prophesized child was the Longbottom boy, he had a hunch that the half-blood would be it. And Lord Voldemort wasted no time in proving that hunch of his.

Much to his delight, the first confrontation between the baby Harry and Lord Voldemort ended up with the boy left an orphan, and the dark lord gone for at least a decade. With no parents to keep control over him, Harry Potter fell into his hands by sheer luck. Sirius Black, the sole hurdle in his path, voluntarily gave up his chance to take custody of the boy when he went chasing after his traitorous friend.

Dumbledore, of course, left nothing to chance as he deposited the child – despite much protest from Minerva and even Severus – with Lily's sister. Hiding behind the relatively true façade of blood protection and next of kin, Dumbledore had ensured that the boy would be mistreated and kept in a state of low self esteem. All the better for when he hopped into the picture offering the only place of refuge that the boy could hope for. That was what he was best at after all. Gaining absolute trust and confidence of those he led. The plan was picture perfect.

The first time anything had had gone wrong was a couple years back when all the equipment in his office monitoring the Dursley residence got fried. He had frantically hurried over to Privet Drive to take a look for himself at what had happened, but nothing seemed amiss. The boy lay in his cupboard – sleeping – and the magical reserves that he could detect were mediocre at best; far more favorable than what he'd even imagined. The base had been established; and it wouldn't be long until he swooped in and molded him into the approval hungry hero's role he had always envisioned for him. The ultimate sacrificial piece had been born. Or so he thought.

Just the following evening, Mrs. Figg had flooed in, looking like the apocalypse had come early.

" _It's terrible!" she screeched. "They're dead, the lot of them. And poor little Harry… He's gone. Disappeared!"_

" _Calm down, for a second. Tell me what happened."_

 _A frown marred the aged headmaster's face as he intently listened to the woman's tale – half of which had been a concoction of her own wild imagination (she hadn't been there to actually hear the police's report). Ever since then, his plans had gone haywire._

The disappearance of the champion of the light meant he would have to completely revamp his strategy. And now, after he had spent years working on his plans for taking control without the Boy-Who-Lived as his golden boy, Harry Potter had popped up once more. He was going to have a real killer of a headache after this.

He was brought out of his musing as a knock sounded on the door.

"Come in Severus." He coolly replied.

"That pompous brat! He knows occlumency, Albus." Severus Snappe raged as he marched into the room, fuming.

For once, Albus Dumbledore had no tokens of wisdom to retort with. After a silence that spanned over several seconds, he settled for all he could have said given the circumstances.

"Summon him here then."

 **And Cut.**

 **AN:**

 **Hope you all enjoyed your holidays… for those that got them that is. I barely got any myself.**

 **And I have no excuse for being so late other than that Ping Pong (Tale Tennis) has become an integral part of my life, and I've been devoting my writing hours to it. Don't get disheartened though, my stories aren't abandoned till I say they are.**

 **Also, for those of you who are in charge of communities… If you like this story, please add it to your community archives.**

 **I'm trying to do justice to both my stories though, so my next update will probably be for my Naruto story -** _ **Vengeful Sage! -**_ **don't forget to check it out.**

 **Try to leave review on your way out. Thanks.**

 **I'm out.**


	8. Chapter 8: Slytherin House

**Shadow Mage**

Chapter 8: Slytherin House…

 **Disclaimer: I own what I own, nothing else. If anything in this chapter seems remotely similar to something you've read before, I probably didn't come up with it, nor do I claim to have done so, so don't waste your time and my own trying to sue me for it. Thanks. Regards, lamejoke911.**

 **A/N:**

 **When reading through the reviews, I realized that there was a slight communication gap. Some readers thought that what I had done when asking for suggestions was set up a poll of sorts, and the option with the greatest votes would be selected. Yes, that's close, but there were other considerations I had as well for how the story was supposed to go, which I thought about and finally decided to go ahead and place Harry in Slytherin as planned, but change plans for Hermione and place her in Ravenclaw. So thanks for the input, guys, and I'm sorry if I wasn't able to follow through with several of your suggestions (mighty good ones, by the way), even if the idea was in a majority.**

 **Also, a reviewer mentioned that Harry was evil- not just dark - for having killed his foster parents. And I would agree to some degree, but not wholly. Here we have a young kid who has been desensitized to violence at a young age, and has found it to be the only solution to his problems. He has been brought up by the Dursleys, where violence was all he learned, and he has not yet had any exposure to the norms of society or to the pleasures of philosophy. As a result, he becomes willing to do away with anyone that forms a hurdle in his way, as he tries to break away from the control and influence of others. He already considered all non-magical folk to be of the same breed, people who were disgusted by him and would eventually be is enemies. Then, there was some truth to the story he floated to Hermione about not feeling loved by his new family, and as a result, we have the Harry that killed his foster parents. As time progressed though, he did live a relatively normal life after that and so, will usually not be prone to such tendencies as mass homicide just for the sake of it, but yes, he will have people killed if it serves him some purpose.**

 **Any further input concerned with that would be welcome.**

 **Anyway, on with the show.**

Harry Potter was impressed. And that was saying something. When he first heard that the Slytherin common room was set in the dungeons, he hadn't expected much in the way of aesthetics or artistic lavishness on the way. And so, the exquisite portraits along the way, as well as the detailed walls inlaid with intricate designs, depicting artwork that spanned centuries. Hogwarts truly was a masterpiece.

He, along with the other first years stood before a high archway beyond which was a statue of a magical King Cobra standing up to a height of six feet, towering over the first year, and even many of the elder students. Its lifelike eyes stared into the students' faces, as if deciding which of them was worthy. Between the archway and statue was a blank stretch of stone wall, and that was where the party came to a stop.

"The password is _'Power'_. It'll stay that way till the next Saturday, and will change every other Saturday night." Gemma Farley, the sixth year prefect announced. "Make sure you all know the password before then. In case you forget, you'll be stuck outside until someone else can let you in."

The intimidated group of first years barely squeaked in response, as the prefects led them into the common room. "You'll be expected to stick to your best behavior while at Hogwarts. Also, Slytherin House must put up a single united front against the rest of the school, who will invariably come together in your opposition." Marcus Flint, a fifth year prefect, added.

"That means no fighting among Slytherin students. If you must, keep your quarrels to the common room. When faced with the rest of the school, we are one disciplined machine, consisting of individuals who _do not_ wear their hearts on their sleeves." A new voice intoned.

"Is that understood?" the icy cold voice daring any to object. The chattering first years immediately shut up as all heads turned towards the prefect who had spoken. She was a stunningly beautiful blond girl, probably a sixth year, with a figure that girls her age would kill for. Dressed in green robes of the finest silk, with a low cut neck that revealed much of her cleavage, she was easily the most eye-catching figure in the room. The indifferent look on her face, though, almost screamed, _'You can look, but you can't touch!'_ in a most teasingly enticing manner. She walked into the common room with a poise and grace that placed her somewhere in the highest echelons of Wizarding society.

The moment of silence was immediately followed by an almost unanimous cry of, "Yes, ma'am!" Harry, of course, was a marked exception. He continued to observe her, gauging her power, both magical and political. He had to say he was pleased. The strength of her magical aura was phenomenal, as far as his experience with aura sensing went.

This relatively obscure ability to sense auras was the result of a blood ritual he had found in _'Ritual Arts: The Science of Blood'_ , mere weeks ago. He knew he wasn't anywhere near advanced enough in his magical knowledge to be attempting such stunts, but he knew that after going to Hogwarts, if he was going to fulfill his goals, he would need to be very careful. Careful enough to know who would make an awful enemy, who to be wary of and who would make a worthy ally.

It hadn't disappointed him as of yet, though he wasn't good enough to discern individual auras when mixed in with a crowd of similar ones. That was probably why he couldn't particularly make out Professor Snape's aura before he had the chance to force himself into his mind – the bastard – it was drowned out by the other dominant auras that surrounded him at the head table. He couldn't blame Snape either. That probably would have been the first thing Harry himself would have done if he was assured he could get away with it. Not that he would let the man get away with his presumptuousness though.

"What, you think you're too good to answer to your betters? Huh?" A fourth year boy remarked.

"Just because you're the Boy-Who-Lived, you think you're better than everyone else?" Another butted in.

Harry knew they were trying to bait him, to make him pull the trigger first. He, of course, wouldn't be giving them that satisfaction. He wouldn't even dignify their baiting with turning his face in their direction. Oh yes, two could play at that game.

How naïve these _'Slytherins'_ were… Did they truly think that he couldn't see their nodding to each other behind his back? Their approaching and closing in on him from three sides. Their slipping of their hands into their pockets and grasping hold of their 'oh so mighty' wands. It was amusing – almost.

But he would humor them. If only so they could fall ever harder. He took a step towards the group of upper years that had almost completed their circle around him, their expressions showing obvious indignation at the Boy-Who-Lived's breach of the status quo. He too slipped his hands into his robes, but not to draw his wand, but merely as a gesture of his own lack of discomfort. Of his own supreme confidence in his assured victory. And then, the first spell was thrown.

A tripping hex. Simple enough. He sidestepped it easily, never breaking stride as he continued his almost practiced march towards the center of the gang.

Then there was another, this time from his side. It misfired, thankfully. Then a third, from directly in front of him. This time, he had to duck. With that first break in his princely march, all hell broke loose.

A barrage of multi-colored spells, hex and jinxes followed, raining down upon him from all sides. He kept moving though, ignoring them. They couldn't harm him.

Trust.

One notion, which had quite far reaching consequences. One of the hardest decisions in the life of Harry Potter, but also one he had quite deliberately arrived at. The decision to trust the protection of the shadows. One he didn't regret. They had never let him down after all.

A dark grey cloud of nothingness rose from the stone floor, acting with a mind of its own. The smoky shadows coalesced into a barrier of sorts around him, absorbing into itself the onslaught of spells meant to cow the young Shadow Mage into submission. But it didn't just stop there. Black tendrils of shadow leapt out at the more aggressive of the attackers, the dark threads winding up their bodies, as they incarcerated their master's enemies. Three boys fell victim to this fate as they stumbled to a halt, unable to move as their limbs were tied together. Two others froze in place as their shadows – which were connected to Harry's own – refused to budge, remaining stationary as the others looked on.

The chattering around the room grew quiet as this new spectacle unfolded before everyone's eyes. This sort of disciplining, though sort of extreme, was not as uncommon in Slytherin House as one would expect. Almost every year, there would be some new upstart who thought he was bigger and better than everybody else, and some roughing up on the very first night did wonders for quelling his or her ego. Respect and the right to arrogance - in Slytherin House - was earned, not taken for granted. Not assumed.

These were the thoughts flitting through Cassandra Rookwood's mind as she watched this year's special edition of taming the stuck up first year brats, with Harry Potter as the chief guest of honor. The brat had a backbone, that she could attest to. But despite not participating in any of these cowing efforts – it was far beneath her station as the undisputed queen of Slytherin – she did expect some sort of respect from her juniors.

And so, she watched from afar as the young boy was surrounded. _'It seems that the boys may be overdoing it. Their hatred for him as a symbol of the fall of the dark, and the accompanying disgrace that their families sustained is dictating their actions. Should I step in? Nah, I'll see what he does. Is he truly worth what they've been saying about him? Or was his much acclaimed triumph over the dark lord a mere fluke?'_

Even as the first spell was fired, she watched, assured that the boys meant no harm. But as the spell fire grew more intense and malicious, Cassandra began to have second thoughts. Professor Snape did not take lightly to Slytherins causing unprovoked bodily harm to each other, especially if the bullies were older than the one they assaulted.

She would have intervened, had it not been for the astounding spectacle that was laid out before her. Seven fourth year and above Sytherins (including two girls), lay immobilized before the young first year, with the other five beginning to back away in fright. Shadowy tendrils had crawled up their bodies, twisting around them like a rope ready to constrict around their torsos, and even reaching up to strangle their necks. While three seemed to have fallen unconscious, the others were screaming their heads off, howling in fear. Seeing the sheer desperation in their eyes, Cassandra didn't know who she should be helping at this point. The Potter boy certainly didn't look like he needed it.

The black mass of what could only be described as nothingness slowly began to dissipate as the firing dissipated, most of the attackers currently incarcerated or not brash enough to risk falling to the same fate as their colleagues. Best stay safe.

"Any idiots still left?" Harry gave a condescending sigh as he turned his face from the assailants.

Leaving the idiots lying on the floor, Harry resumed walking over to where the rest of the first years had sequestered themselves. But before he could as much as take two steps, the resounding thud of heavy boots striking the stone floor alerted him to the final bulky boy that had done away with all of his earlier companions' fancy wand waving as he pounced onto the boy with a mighty heave.

Harry was tired of this though. The nerve – and must he say it – the sheer idiocy of these allegedly cunning and calculating folk had seriously disappointed him. But then of course, you could not paint the entire brood with the same brush. The number of sensible people in the world appeared to be at an all-time low, so why not in Slytherin House as well? It was quite possible that the useful kind of wizards and witches too existed here – they better, else he would go mad in under a week!

' _Ajdaha. Subdue them, but leave them alive. Let them learn their lesson this once.'_

' _At once, milord!'_

The olive green King Cobra that had been hiding beneath the Shadow Mage's robes surged forward, shooting off of his body as she tackled the frightened teens to the floor. Rising up to her full height in quite an intimidating gesture, she left her 'not' prey powerless to move.

Where his display of extraordinary magical control over shadows had left his audience both bewildered and amazed, this latest revelation brought a whole new range of reactions to the scene. Gobsmacked and impressed faces gave way to fearful ones, while others oscillated between surprise, relief, worry, submission and was that – desire?

Cassandra Rookwood's own expression mirrored her own hopes as she witnessed the incident. Watching it all, seeing the first year Slytherin boy exhibiting such abilities which the world had branded as dark, her hopes for a better future were kindled once more - hopes that the dark would rise to prominence once more – if the powers of this young boy were any indication - and she would be there to see it all. She would see her father released from Azkaban, and her family honor restored to its rightful glory.

But there was also doubt. What if Potter was actually a supporter of the light? Her side would be doomed then. An eleven year old that had barely set foot in Hogwarts powering through over half a dozen elder students without even lifting his wand was truly scary. A premonition into the future to come.

She had no doubts that if things were to continue this way, he would be one of the most powerful and influential students in Slytherin, if not the school, by the time she graduated two years from now. Cassandra knew she couldn't miss this chance. This chance for redemption.

But to Harry Potter, all this didn't matter at the moment. He had eyes for only one face, a face stricken by horror, though it was quickly hidden behind a look of indifference and a raised eyebrow. The countenance of Severus Snape.

XXX

"Potter! What did you think you were doing?" The ever present scowl on his face looked even nastier as the professor did his best to glare the boy to death.

"Surely, self defense is no crime in Scotland, is it sir?" Harry replied sarcastically, his eyes flitting here and there to avoid meeting with the Professor's. He didn't want a repeat performance of what had happened earlier at the start of term feast.

"Self defense? Do you take me for a fool, Potter? Leaving half a dozen students unconscious with many others injured barely qualifies as self defense." The man growled out. "You're barely the first upstart to think you can get away with the excuse of self defense. I'll have you expelled if you think you can wreak havoc in Slytherin house and get away with it."

The pair continued for some timein relative silence. A large stone gargoyle came into view as the pair turned a corner, heading straight for it. The gargoyle, to Harry's great fascination, leapt aside immediately as the Professor marched Harry up the spiraling staircase, most definitely to the Headmaster's office, if his relentless threats on the way were anything to go by. Harry didn't know whether to think of this as an unwelcome contingency, or as an opportunity in disguise.

Even though Snape didn't show any intention of stopping to knock, a voice sounded out from inside the office anyway. "Come in, Severus!"

"Not even two hours at Hogwarts and already causing trouble, just like I told you he would."

"Calm down, Severus!" The aged headmaster chided.

"Just like his father! He thinks he can get away with the worst of crimes just because of his fame. I say he should be expelled this instant."

"Have a seat, Severus." The man complied, though grudgingly. And now turning to Harry, "Harry, my boy! How wonderful it is to see you again. Please, have a seat." Dumbledore motioned for the aristocratic looking chair in front of his desk, besides the one occupied by a murderous Professor Snape.

"Again?" Harry questioned, faking a surprised look. Of course he had figured out that Dumbledore must have had a hand in who he was sent to live with. Any seven year old with half the brains he did could have.

"Ah, a long story, my boy. A very sad one, too. Yes… But maybe a story for another time."

Dumbledore gave a long sigh, and then, intertwining his fingers, looked up once again.

"A lemon drop, Harry?" Dumbledore stuck his hand into the goblet lying to his right, withdrawing a pair of plastic wrapped toffees. A slight shake of Harry's head, and the headmaster turned to offer it to the potions master.

"You neither, Severus? I find it to be highly relaxing and helpful in soothing the mind." He popped one into his own mouth, his face growing serious as he turned his attention to the issue at hand.

"Now Severus. Care to tell me what brings the two of you to my office at this hour? By all rights, Harry should be in bed right now…"

"Professor, when I entered the Slytherin common room to make sure that the first years' transition into the new environment was going on smoothly, I had little reason to suspect that trouble would be afoot." Snape stopped, as if contemplating something, and then continued. "Imagine my surprise when I find over half a dozen fourth and fifth year boys lying unconscious, and a couple more injured, while the others watched on in terror. A truly shocking sight indeed, especially at the hands of not an elder student up to his usual mischief, but rather, enacted by a first year boy who could not possibly have had any cause for holding a grudge over some happening of the past or something of the sort."

"Is this true, Harry?" Albus raised a brow; not quite willing to believe that the unlikely accusation was all there was to the story. In all his years - particularly the past half-century -seldom was there an event which he had not considered as a possibility, if not outright predicted.

Humans were set to act in certain ways when exposed to given conditions, and the different categories of reactionary tendencies that people were prone to having could usually be counted on one hand. Behavioral Psychology, the muggles liked to call it – and Albus could proudly and quite confidently claim that he was most probably one of the very few wizards to have delved into its finer aspects. He had not dominated the political landscape of Britain – if not the whole Wizarding world – for nigh on fifty years by leaving things to chance and submitting to the whims of fate. His each step was calculated, each action meticulously tailored for eliciting the desired response from those around him. He had played people against each other and for each other. He had effectively enslaved them, tied them to his will without their evening knowing it. And all this time, Albus Dumbledore – as according to popular belief – stood with unwavering fortitude, firmly entrenched on the light. That was his true power; not his magical prowess – which itself was nothing to sneeze at.

True cunning and manipulation, worthy of Salazar Slytherin himself, but very few knew that, and those who did had their tongues tied. And he liked to keep it that way.

"I was attacked, sir. By several fourth years."

"Indeed?"

"I don't know what happened. One second a prefect was talking, and the next, they all had me cornered, their wands pointed at me. And then, something just exploded. I saw the boys flying away from me, as if thrown by some invisible force, crashing to a halt several feet from where I stood. Then Professor Snape walked in to the scene, and immediately assumed that _I_ was at fault."

"I'm unsure whether I should be amused at your almost naïve sense of self-righteousness."

"Is that so, Severus? It seems to be no more than a piece of accidental magic, not surprising given that he hasn't yet learned to direct his magic by his will." Dumbledore passed a smile to Harry, no doubt, trying to play the good cop. "Perhaps you would like to tell us what convinced you that whatever complaint there was against the boy couldn't wait the night…"

Snape paused for a second. The kid was smart, he would give him that. Passing off the entire event as an accidental outburst of unharnessed magic was probably the only thing that could get him out of this mess. It didn't help that all through the event, or as much as he could reconstruct during the couple seconds he had witnessed, the boy's wand had remained firmly tucked into his robes' pocket.

Not to mention the issue of the last remaining Potter and 'Vanquisher of the Dark Lord' being a parselmouth. That in itself wasn't a crime. But it was news distasteful enough that it would discredit the boy for nearly the rest of his career.

Snape's first reflex to hearing the name Potter was to find fault with the name's bearer. It was a reflex that hadn't dulled much over the years. So when he first found out that James Potter's son would be attending Hogwarts that year, he had already filled his head preconceived suppositions about what he would be like – a miniature form of his father. Having heard from Draco when he arrived at the Great Hall that he not only associated with, but also outright defended mudbloods only further supported the concept of a self-righteous Gryffindorish Boy – Who – Lived who thought of others as naturally inferior to him.

It all changed at the sorting, though. That very impossible cry of _'Slytherin!'_ as the hat left the boy's head made him think again. Maybe he was different. And then, that foolhardy Gryffindor act of invading a student's mind in front of the entire school. At the first sign of resistance, Dumbledore had probably already guessed what was going on. But then, that was the unbelievable part… a first year having an adequate enough understanding of the mind arts – which though rudimentary – were sufficient to block the attack of an accomplished legilimens. Could it possibly be that, contrary to all likelihood, the Potter spawn wasn't a dunderhead – that he wasn't as horrible as he sounded? He was still Lily's blood after all. He decided he would give him a chance.

That chance expired the moment he walked into the Slytherin common room with half of its occupants screaming in terror. He was James Potter's son, through and through. He was a mischief maker, causing trouble with each step of his foot. He immediately apprehended him (he would have anyway) and escorted him to the Headmaster's office.

Albus Dumbledore, though, was adamant that no child could ever be bad. Just by nature. He would come up with some sort of explanation or justification for anything the child would do. It was almost sickening. Even now, he was probably coming up with a reason why the boy could sense his mind was being invaded, and after some effort, be able to repel the attack.

The only real thing he had against the boy was his power to speak to snakes. That was something Albus would never ignore. It would make him wary. But was it wise, though? To tell the headmaster that he was a parselmouth.

 **Flashback:**

 _Snape dragged the boy through the hallway, a scowl set on his face. "You think to hide behind the shield of self-defense – but for how long?" sneered the professor. "What do you think the Wizarding World will think when they find out that their hero has the power to speak to snakes, just like the Dark Lord not so many years ago?"_

" _You will tell no one!" the boy exploded. His calm and graceful countenance_ _morphed into a visage of cold fury. His voice was stern and forceful – having lost its indifferent tone - and his eyes made it clear that he meant business._

" _And by what authority is it that you command me?"_

 _Harry Potter seemed to have cooled down from his outburst, as he said in a low tone, "I know it was you…"_

" _Do not think to play mind games with me. I assure you they will not work." Snape's condescending demeanour left no doubt about what he thought of the boy's efforts to dissuade him._

" _It was you who attempted to break into my mind, trying to look into my thoughts and memories. I will tell everyone unless you keep quiet about this."_

" _I do not know what you are talking about…" Snape replied with a straight face._

" _I did not take you to be one who rats out the members of his House. So much for Slytherin rules, huh?"_

" _It would do you well to stay within your bounds. As your head of House, it is I who decides whether you deserve to continue your education at this school or not."_

" _Of course, Professor," the boy said with a sickeningly sweet smile plastered on his face._

 **Flashback End**

"Well, Professor. If you're sure that this debacle was truly no more than innocent, then I believe that it is time to retire for the night."

"Of course, Severus. If you could give me a minute with Harry, and then you may escort him back to his common room."

Professor Snape walked out of the office, leaving Albus to say whatever it was he needed to say to the boy.

A minute later, the boy was back out again, and they were on their way to the dungeons.

XXX

"…He thinks he's so great. That he's too good for everyone else. He sent my big brother to the hospital wing! He'll pay for that," an unfamiliar voice sounded out from behind the door.

"Well Severus will let him have it for now. Let's see what his fame can do for him here." That was Malfoy alright. "I don't know what everyone sees in him anyway. Did you see the way Miss Cassandra and the other prefects were speaking about him? Like he would be the next Dark Lord or something…"

"You never know, Draco. I mean, did you see his snake. It was humongous!" That was the boy who sat next to him during the feast, Zabini was his name. His voice an excited whisper, Harry could just barely make out what was being said. He sank into his shadow.

"That's bullshit! Dark Lord – my ass! You should've seen him on the train. He wasn't just fraternizing with a mudblood, he was also supporting her."

"What did I tell you about calling names, Draco?" Harry asked with a reprimanding shake of the head as he appeared behind the boys.

The entire group almost jumped to their feet, startled by the sudden intrusion. "Huh, Potter? When did you get back?" There was an uneasy look in Malfoy's eyes as he kept them fixed on the floor.

"Just now."

"Oh, we were just talking about you…"

"Why, yes. I noticed. Speaking of Hermione, can I expect that you will offer her the respect she deserves as a fellow magical and student of Hogwarts?"

"I'll duel her first! And when I have her at my mercy, I'll show you why Purebloods are superior in every way," Draco declared, quite confident of his own victory.

"And what if it is _you_ that is at _her_ mercy?"

"That will never happen…"

"And what if it does?"

"Then maybe there is some hope for her yet…"

"How about you go read up on some of that history I told you about? You can have your duel tomorrow after dinner."

"I'll beat her into the ground, mark my words!"

"Sure you will, Draco."

 **And Cut.**

 **AN:**

 **Right, so that was one of the worst cases of writer's block ever. I had no idea how to do this chapter, especially with creating a believable Slytherin without being really lame (which I epically failed at anyway… I don't really like this chapter, but I'll leave the feedback and commenting up to you guys) and how to write the first confrontation with Snape and Dumbledore. That plus having to write in secret because my parents think fanfiction is completely useless resulted in me getting this chapter out almost four weeks later than I was supposed to. So sorry for that guys.**

 **Please let me know if there have been any inconsistencies in this chapter in particular, or anywhere else in the story so far.**

 **Also, for those of you who are in charge of communities… If you like this story, please add it to your community archives.**

 **Also, if you're interested about the name I've chosen for Harry's King Cobra, it's Ajdaha. That's 'Great Snake' in Urdu/Hindi. The term is used in India and Pakistan.**

 **I'm trying to do justice to both my stories, so my next update will probably be for my Naruto story -** _ **Vengeful Sage! -**_ **don't forget to check it out.**

 **Try to leave review on your way out. Thanks.**

 **I'm out.**


	9. Chapter 9: The Duel

**Shadow Mage**

Chapter 9: The Duel

 **Disclaimer: I own what I own, nothing else. If anything in this chapter seems remotely similar to something you've read before, I probably didn't come up with it, nor do I claim to have done so, so don't waste your time and my own trying to sue me for it. Thanks. Regards, lamejoke911.**

" _I'll beat her into the ground, mark my words!"_

" _Sure you will, Draco."_

Draco wasn't sure he was feeling all too confident about this any longer. He knew that the girl in front of him was a mudblood, and that by definition implied an innate inferiority to those whose families had been inundated with magic for centuries. Just last night, he had been quite talkative about the entire matter, dismissing the muggleborn as no one of any real significance. But then, he read through the history that Potter had referenced. And the first rays of doubt forayed into his mind. But of course, he had been conditioned since childhood to never succumb to such blasphemous thoughts that the lowly would suggest to undermine his birthright.

He shook his head, clearing himself of his insecurities. He had much to do in his life. He had much greatness to achieve, much honor to win for the Malfoy name. He could not be hesitant. And that too in the face of a buck-toothed know it all mudblood that was far too presumptuous for her own good. He would show her. This was no great hurdle in his path to glory. This was only the first stepping stone on his way.

The crowd filling the stony walls of the classroom located in the dungeon a short distance from the Slytherin Common Room was excited. They wanted to see some action. And they wanted to see some humiliation. It consisted mostly of Slytherins who heard Draco boasting about his upcoming victory, but also Ravenclaws and even Gryffindors. But despite there being such House divisions, who each individual was rooting for was a completely different story.

Even though the Serpents were all cheering for Draco on the outside, there were many who held deep resentment for the House of Malfoy – there were many whose ancestors had been brought low in the Malfoys' bid for power, and these grudges had been passed down through the generations. There were many who wanted to see the Malfoy scion knocked down a peg. There were many that wanted payback.

Of course, a majority of the Slytherins wanted to see the little mudblood humiliated more than they wanted Draco humbled. The blood supremacist dogma that they had been indoctrinated with from the moment they had been born held strong, and they wanted to witness a manifestation of its veracity.

The Ravenclaws too, were similarly ambivalent. Hermione Granger had her supporters and sympathizers, as well as her enviers. There were those who – in the first two days – had been outdone somehow by the girl, and their presumptions of self grandeur had been shattered; much to their dismay. They wanted to see her brought low too.

Neville Longbottom was there for his first friend. He knew he always would be. When she told him that Malfoy had challenged her to a duel, he had counseled her against going. She was a muggleborn, with no family history with magic, and no house honor she had to duel to protect anyway. Malfoy, on the other hand, was a pureblood, who could turn even a defeat into victory if he complained to the right ears – that he, heir to an Ancient and Most Noble House, had been _assaulted_ by a muggleborn. That could be the end of her, unless she earned the protection of an equally influential House. But she was adamant. So Neville was here to cheer her on anyway. She had been a real help over the past two days after all.

The other Gryffindors that Neville had brought along though, were different. They wanted a fight, and they wanted to see the snakes on the losing end of it. And so it was that loud booing could be heard coming from their side, definitely not in support of the slimy snakes. The Weasley twins were top of that list.

Hermione Granger wasn't afraid. She was confident. She knew she could do this. Dueling was something Harry and she had done before, just for the thrill of it. And she knew she was quite adept at it. Well, adept when compared with the average first year. She had no idea what level of magic Malfoy was familiar with – coming from a family that was loyal to the dark for multiple generations – he could very well be walking into the duel with dozens of curses ready at his fingertips. But she did not think that was the case. If what Harry had told her was accurate, then her adversary was a sheltered 'mummy-daddy'. He probably never bothered to learn anything too serious.

A large circular area had been cleared in the center of the room, with the spectators crammed close around its perimeter. Harry Potter stood towards the front, along with several other notable Slytherins, including the prefects. The prefects had been quite chummy with him ever since the episode the previous night. What had started off at the welcoming feast as looks of pure disdain had evolved overnight into joviality and amity. Of course, they were Slytherins, so he couldn't fault them. They were known for switching sides the moment the odds shifted a little here or there. But he also felt that half of them were nice to him not out of their own choice. He had a theory for that too.

 **Flashback:**

 _Accompanied by Professor Snape, Harry reentered the common room which he had been escorted from under an hour ago to find it much emptier than he had left it. Its sole occupants were a pair of late night sixth year students who were studying for God-knows-what on the first night back over by a sofa in the corner, and a beautiful young woman who seemed to want to speak with him._

 _It was the same prefect who had spoken earlier, and who everyone else seemed to defer to and respect. He hadn't been able to quite observe her much before, what with the tensions in the room at the time, but now, he looked at her quite thoroughly._

 _Slim at the waist, and a head taller than him, she struck quite an imposing figure. Her voluptuous body and the silky hair that fell down her shoulders gave her an alluring look, one that he was sure had tamed dozens of young boys before. She was blonde with the most captivating eyes – a shade somewhere between a striking blue and a calm grey. But more than that, she was distinguished by the formidable aura that surrounded her - an aura that was colored dark red, with streaks of black running through it. It was like a fire raging around her body, daring any to approach maliciously and burn away. The red showed great emotion, its darkness showing the negative nature of those emotions, and the blackness signified how far she had delved into the dark magics. It was safe to say that she had more than tried quite a bit of it sometime recently. He almost licked his lips. She could become a most valuable ally._

 _Anyone who was suppressed by the currently light affiliated ruling class of Wizarding Britain could, and he would be all the more pleased at that. But there was something about Cassandra Rookwod that drew him to her, whether it was her aura, beauty, regality, or any combination of these, he was unsure._

" _Hi. I'm Cassandra Rookwood, 6_ _th_ _year prefect." She stated, offering her hand._

" _Hi. Harry Potter." He took her hand, shaking it gently and looking up into her eyes._

" _I saw what happened earlier tonight, and I must say I'm really sorry for what happened. Quite disappointed with the boys too."_

" _No, it's quite alright. You had nothing to do with it. Besides, my reaction was extreme as well."_

" _Nonsense, you merely defended yourself, and quite admirably at that. You had me startled with your splendid display. You will find that someone of your talents will always find a place for himself in Slytherin House, given he treads carefully enough, irrespective of his background." She said, almost proudly – and was that hopefully?_

" _I would prefer that the events of the night not be circulated through the rumor mill first thing in the morning as Gryffindors are wont to do…" Harry replied with a raised brow._

" _Of course. Slytherin quarrels do not go beyond the walls of the common room. I've already spoken with the rest of the house, and the prefects as well. Hopefully, no one else will give you any trouble. If they do, you can tell me, or any of the other prefects, or even Professor Snape. He does not at all take kindly to bullying of younger students without just cause."_

" _Thanks."_

" _No problem," Cassandra replied with a smile, and then she turned toward the stairs, pointing towards the corridor that opened up right next to their base, "First year dorms are down there, three to a room. Find the one with your name on it."_

" _OK."_

" _See you later then, Potter." And she walked away._

 **Flashback End:**

Ever since then, the prefects had steered clear of him. They would sometimes give him looks behind his back when they thought he wasn't looking, but would quickly school them into pleasant indifference whenever he turned around. No matter. They were inconsequential anyway. In the house of the snakes, the only person who mattered was the one who ascended to the so called ' _Throne of Slytherin' –_ namely the one who had the influence, wealth, power, and skill to back up his/her claim to it.

That person was apparently Cassandra Rookwood, who had taken it at the beginning of her fifth year. She had dueled each and every other Slytherin into submission, and belonged to a pureblood noble house, with a not so humble wallet. Top of her year in over half of her subjects, she was the obvious choice.

But then, the choice hadn't been left up to mere mortals in any case. It was an ancient law, put in place centuries ago – some even claimed it had been instituted by the Great Salazar Slytherin himself – though he'd encountered no evidence to that notion. The 'monarch' of Slytherin House would be judged by the massive 15 foot serpentine golem that stood in the middle of the common room – a twin headed dragon snake whose two heads each represented the choices it could make. Once the most powerful member of the house was determined by combat, the ancient stone being would decide whether or not the candidate was worthy.

The seat had been left vacant for years at length, but apparently, Cassandra Rookwood had passed his criteria.

Returning to the present, Harry stood at the forefront of the audience, eagerly anticipating the outcome of this not so unwelcome turn of events. He had complete faith in Hermione. He had seen her abilities first hand, and they were nothing to scoff at; for a first year at least. He was broken from his thoughts when the voice of Cassandra Rookwood cut through the roar of the quite boisterous crowd, following a not so loud murmuring of the word, "Sonorous."

"Ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to Hogwarts Dueling Club's first event of the year. We had originally intended for the recruitment drive to be held sometime next week, and regular sessions to follow shortly, but to our immense surprise, it was revealed that a pair of freshies had already challenged each other to a duel, and the HDC's platform being the only platform where duels can officially be held at Hogwarts, they requested us to set the stage for their show."

"Allow me to now introduce the duelists. We have Draco Malfoy of Slytherin House, heir to the Malfoy name and line, son of Lord Lucius Malfoy, who sits on the Hogwarts Board of Directors, and a first year student here at Hogwarts." There was a large round of applause and cheering as Draco stepped up to the center of the raised platform that had lay at the center of the human perimeter.

"And secondly, we have Hermione Granger," a contemptuous pause characterized her statement as she announced the second contestant, "a first year muggleborn student from the house of Ravenclaw." There wasn't much respect in the girl's voice, not thinking much of the 'upstart freshie' who had popped up out of the muggle world and had the gall to accept the challenge of a pureblood heir of an Ancient and Most Noble house. She respected power and ability – and cunning. Not the reckless Gryffindor bravado that this young Ravenclaw seemed to exhibit. No matter, it was _her_ funeral.

It was common knowledge that some pureblood families had their children tutored in the subjects to be taught at Hogwarts slightly in advance, so that they wouldn't be overwhelmed when they started their first year. Well she had, at least; but those thoughts led down other avenues she didn't want to think about right now.

Given the lackluster introduction, it was a given that the applause for Hermione wasn't even close to the amount Draco had received. Hermione didn't let it put her down though. She believed in pure skill, and it had been a long time since she had let her own insecurities unsettle her. Not since she had made friends with Harry, who had been an unwavering support for her in the times that followed.

Both challengers walked up the steps to the raised platform, the floor of which was made of white marble tiles, sparkling in the light that shone from the chandeliers above. They each took a position at opposite ends, taking their stances and putting together their composures.

"Before we begin, allow me to introduce the judge for this duel, though I must say, he needs no introduction to begin with. For those of you who are new to or unaware of Hogwarts Dueling Club, the judge for today's match will be our very own Professor Filius Flitwick, head of House Ravenclaw and charms professor at Hogwarts. A professional dueling champion in his youth, the professor has been – over the past two years - the club's faculty advisor and a most generous mentor and guide. Ladies and gentlemen, a hand for Professor Flitwick."

First one, then two and then every pair of hands in the room came together to applaud the revered professor. He was someone that was respected by all – someone who respected all, and someone who was valued for his mastery over his field as well as his cheerful demeanor. None but the most bigoted of students had an evil word to say about him, and even then, only concerning his blood.

As the exuberant clapping faded into silence, the diminutive professor stepped up to the raised armchair set aside for the referee. Raising his wand to this throat, he whispered a soft incantation, and then cleared his throat.

"Ahem. Thank you all, for a very warm welcome. I'd like to tell you all how pleased I was when a couple students approached me with the proposition of reinstating the Hogwarts Dueling Club two years back. After over fifteen years of having been discontinued due to the situation that had evolved following the rise of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and the dismal decline that British performance had fallen into at the European and International Junior Dueling Championships, it was a welcome reprieve and a beacon of hope once more for the venerable field. In that respect, I must appreciate the efforts that the club - under the leadership of Ms Rookwood, and despite its fledgling status - has made to establish itself as one of Hogwarts' premier societies."

A cacophony of cheers and applause rang out at the part-goblin's statement.

Allowing the roar of the audience to die down, he continued, "However, I must also say that I was not expecting to get down to business so early into the school year. It is truly saddening that two young students of Hogwarts would have progressed in their quarrel on the first day here that they should have to resort to a duel to resolve their issues. Nevertheless, here I am, supervising this altercation."

"Mind you, this is NOT a duel to the death or lethal injury, so participants are warned against use of lethal force, though I honestly doubt that any of them would be willing or capable of such magics at this stage in any case. The duel will be over if either duelist forfeits, yields, or is knocked out of the ring." With that, he made a pointing gesture to the marble platform to indicate the boundaries of the allowable area. "Bear in mind that I will step in whenever I deem it prudent to do so, and if I decide that one participant is no longer able to continue, the match will be over."

Having said his part, Professor Flitwick sat back down on his chair, looking at Cassandra Rookwood expectantly.

"By your permission, Professor Flitwick…?"

"Please."

"Are both contestants ready?" She announced.

"Of course." Came Hermione's immediate reply, eager to begin the event. She hadn't expected so many people to come to witness her duel – it sort of made her feel nervous.. She had thought it would be a relatively private affair, she would put the young Malfoy in his place, shut his mouth and that would be the end of it.

Of course, Harry had some other ideas. Making an entire spectacle of it in front of such a large audience and making it official, but it was for the better, she guessed. She smiled thinking of sweeping the floor with that arrogant ponce.

"Yes, ma'am," Draco said out loud.

"You think this is funny, huh?" He then began in a low tone. "Just wait till I wipe that smirk off your mudblood face." A gasp ran through the front row as those close by could just barely make out the jist of what the boy said.

"That bastard!" Neville, who had pushed his way to the front swore as his face grew red in anger at Malfoy's audacity. "What gives him the right to degrade others like they're not worth the dirt beneath his feet!" But he was held back by the Gryffindor fifth year prefect, Percy Weasley.

"Longbottom, do not make a scene. You will only make things worse."

Suitably chastised, the boy shrunk back into the crowd, though his frustrated countenance left no doubt as to how worked up he still was. His attention was drawn back to the center of the circle as the Slytherin prefect finally announced, "Then you will both bow and on the count of three, the duel may commence."

Neither side felt the magnanimity of giving much more than a slight nod of the head. Bowing was akin to submission, and their pride forbade them from admitting any such notion.

Not quite pleased with their performance, but nonetheless knowing that it was as much as she would get, Cassandra Rookwood gave an audible sigh, and then, "One."

Hermione drew her wand, getting into a wide stance and eyeing the arena around her for anything that could prove helpful during her endeavor.

"Two."

Draco's wand was already in his hand, a nicely decorated and aristocratic looking wand that befitted the role of heir to an Ancient and Most Noble House. He stood calmly, feet together with his arm raised up in front of him, wand pointing outwards.

"Three!"

" _ **Petrificus Totalus!**_ " Malfoy's wand snapped forwards as a insert color here colored beam flashed its way over to Hermione. She immediately leapt to the side, not wasting a moment as she countered with " _ **Impedimenta!**_ "

Draco did not expect her to be able to return fire so quickly, so he was not prepared in the least for when she did. Trying to dodge at the last second, but inevitably too late, he was knocked to the floor at an awkward angle.

Hermione knew this was probably the most opportune chance she would get, so she didn't let up. The impediment jinx was followed up by a barrage of spells, varying from blue to red to orange.

" _ **Aguamenti!"**_

" _ **Diffindo!"**_

" _ **Petrificus Totalus!"**_

A jet of water crashed onto the fallen boy, eliciting a scream as he was battered for a whole three seconds, soaking him to the core. Without a moment of relief, a cutter came whistling his way, but fortunately for the boy, he had rolled around sufficiently enough to avoid the brunt of the damage escaping with only a shallow gash along his left arm, which was bleeding lightly.

A loud gasp followed by thrilled exclamations of surprise and wonder at the impressive display as well as happiness at what appeared to be the girl's victory resounded through the large chamber, drowning out the shouts of concern about Draco's wellbeing that came from a few sides of the room.

Noted among these were Pansy Parkinson and Georgina Flint, who were both apparently vying for Draco's fancy long before they had had their first periods – part of a romanticized version of their parents' political agendas.

When the light from Hermione's quick spell casting faded, Draco could be seen down on one knee, completely drenched and with half his left sleeve missing, holding up his wand at the center of a blue force field.

" _ **Protego!"**_

Contrary to both Hermione and the crowd's assumption that the duel was over with and the boy paralyzed, Draco was still ready to go, having blocked the full body bind curse, as well as the _**"Locomotor Mortis!"**_ that followed.

Draco was thankful that he had learned this spell. Back before he had turned eleven, his father had stressed upon him the importance of being able to protect himself from any threat that may come his way at Hogwarts. He had almost laughed at the absurdity of it. A threat? To him of all people? At Hogwarts of all places – the most secure place in magical Britain? Not likely.

But Malfoy Sr was not to be deterred. He had arranged a tutor for the boy over the summer who had taught him basic spells, how to defend himself, and how to disarm an opponent. Draco, though hadn't been putting his heart into the classes – he felt more inclined to playing quidditch with his friends.

Now though, he couldn't express how grateful he was that he _did_ learn the things he did, otherwise, he was toast. The frickin' mudblood could actually cast spells, which was an anomaly, given the sort of backgrounds he was told they came from. No normal mudblood could have cast those spells so naturally, as if she had been practicing them for months. But that wasn't possible, was it? The trace would have ensured that she didn't.

Just holding up the Protego shield for under half a minute had taken its toll on him, but he hadn't wanted to let up until he could get his bearings straight. During practice, he could hold up the spell for a full minute before exhausting himself, but this wasn't practice. Whoever was firing at him wouldn't provide him the luxury of waiting for him to regain his breath and rejuvenise himself before attacking once more. _Granger_ would certainly not give him room, so he broke the shield as hopped several steps back, creating some distance between her and himself.

He initiated fire this time, sending tickling jinx Hermione's way, which she too blocked with a quick _**"Protego!"**_ , returning fire with a severing charm. Draco jumped out of the way, and cast the only spell combination his tutor had had time to teach him.

He raised his wand up, and with a forward flick, he exclaimed, _**"Incendio!"**_

Then, he followed the fire making spell with the impediment jinx, a jelly legs jinx. As he made to complete his rapid fire barrage, a yellow colored beam of light emerged from the smoke of his incendio, striking Draco before he had time to evade. Nevertheless, Draco completed the spell sequence, aiming right for where the offending spell had come from.

" _ **Incarcerous!".**_ He screamed out finally, gasping for breath and resting his hands upon his knees as he bent over, exhaustion beginning to set in. He felt dazed, but he could see no movement from the clearing smoke of his initial overpowered incendio. He took that to be a good thing.

Still tired, but deciding to brave things to the end, he raised himself up straight, a smug look settling on to his face. He looked forwards, but the girl wasn't tied up on the ground in front of him as he had thought. She was standing several feet over to the side, none the worse for wear. She seemed perfectly unfazed, were it not for the slightly ruffled hair on her head.

Instead, at the front of the Slytherin side of the audience, he could see Blaise Zabini being helped out of the ropes that were definitely the result of his own misfired spell. He heaved himself into action, firing spells one after another, but even though each time it seemed that they would hit her, they invariably missed and went soaring into the audience, claiming their victims, but mostly – especially after the first three instances, having felled both a third year Slytherin as well as a second year Gryfindor - dissipating at the edge of a shield charm held up by Professor Flitwick or one of the elder students in attendance. It was embarrassing, and mighty infuriating even more so.

The filthy mudblood was doing it on purpose! He could tell from the taunting look he continued to give him, which could evolve into full blown laughter at any moment.

Giving out an exasperated shout at the unfairness of it all, he went mad in a frenzy of spell fire, casting the most overpowered incendios that he could muster; one to the face which she ducked under, one to her feet which she leapt over, one to her shoulder which the girl simply sidestepped, and one to her chest, which she dived to the side, coming back up in a roll, but by then, she had misbalanced herself - and the fifth incendio came crashing towards her abdomen. Nowhere to go, Hermione called upon the power of the Protego shield once more.

Bracing herself for the drain on her not so abundant any more reserves, she was quite surprised to feel the offending fire merely dissipate upon running into her defense. Then came another, and she laughed seeing the crazed look in Draco Malfoy's face. As the ball of fire approached the girl – growing ever smaller - she lowered her shield, allowing Malfoy's final attempt at attacking her come within inches of her face.

And then, she blew. She blew a soft breath onto the fire, and it went out like a light. Grey smoke billowed out from in front of her mouth, the last testament to the puny fire's existence. She couldn't help it this time. Her face split into a wide grin as she saw her adversary huffing and puffing, sapped of his strength and magic. His incessant attacks had juiced him dry, the last one had been just enough to light a candle, and now, only red sparks remained as proof of his magic. His core had been emptied.

Now came the fun part. She wasted not a second before she softly but firmly intoned, _**"Expelliarmus!"**_

Draco's wand whipped out of his grip as it went flying straight into Hermione's outstretched hands.

"You Mudblood bitch!" The boy yelled. "How dare you lay a hand on my wand?" The boy's hysterical bellowing only intensified as she schooled her face into one of flat indifference. "Return it this instant!"

"And if I don't?"

"Then you'll pay!"

"You wish…" She said, then, turning away as if the duel held no more importance to her, Hermione turned her back to the downed boy and started walking away.

"Here, keep your wand, I wouldn't want to keep it in any case. Besides, God _knows_ where it's been." Without looking back, she tossed it over her head, the wand flipping through the air until it came to rest at the foot of the judge's chair.

Draco knew deep down that he had lost this one. Quite humiliatingly to boot. But his ego could not allow him to accept defeat so easily. He was a pureblood. She was the most lowly of mudbloods. He was acquainted with magic since he was born. She had known about magic for a couple months at most. He was a boy, she was a stupid young upstart girl. He deserved to win.

So he forewent all sense of self preservation or restraint as he charged the smaller girl as fast as his legs could carry him, which wasn't all that fast, given the circumstances. In a desperate bid to dogpile her – he didn't think that was forbidden in the duel – he jumped up right as he got within half a meter of his target.

But it was not to be. Hermione's wand snapped out as she aimed at Draco's foot, whispering.

" _ **Wingardium Leviosa!"**_

The attacking preteen instantaneously flipped over as he was hung upside down in the air, as if being held by the foot. The boy dangled disgracefully as if an invisible hand had taken hold of his ankle. But that was just the beginning. As he squirmed and wiggled, his robes came loose, flipping inside out as they obeyed the law of gravity, leaving all of his torso and legs bare for the world to see, aside from a set of briefs that covered his groin.

"I must say, all this talk of pureblood this and heir of that, and I had come to expect something a bit more… more." Hermione stated in a sickeningly endearing tone, the one that hurt the most when you knew you were specifically being targeted. "I had thought you would 'wipe this smirk from my face', isn't that right? Where did all that bravado go now?"

Draco had now officially broken. His illusions shattered, water began to form at the edges of his eyes. He began to plead. "Let me down." "Let me down!" "Please!"

"Admit that I – a mudblood - am better than could ever be, and yield." Was the unyielding response.

Draco clenched his fist tightly as he could hear more spectators openly laughing at his expense than he could see worried for him. _Those bastards._

"I - yield."

"Well, I guess that's the best I'm going to get."

"Let me down now you stupid bitch, the duel is over!"

"Sure." And Draco Malfoy fell into a heap, unconscious

 **And Cut.**

 **AN:**

 **And there you have it, the long awaited duel. I guess that's the best you can get when you pit two first years against each other, even if they've had prior experience with the concept. Sorry if it disappointed you.**

 **And yes, I checked from the Harry Potter Wiki, they wear only underwear under their robes.**

 **Anyway, tell me what you liked, what you hated, what you want to see, what you don't. Your feedback is most welcome, and it's what I thrive on.**

 **Also, please let me know if there have been any inconsistencies in this chapter in particular, or anywhere else in the story so far.**

 **Also, for those of you who are in charge of communities… If you like this story, please add it to your community archives.**

 **I'm trying to do justice to both my stories, so my next update will probably be for my Naruto story -** _ **Vengeful Sage! -**_ **don't forget to check it out.**

 **Try to leave review on your way out. Thanks.**

 **I'm out.**


End file.
